Bee Boy stood weakly beside the wall, his tiny hands pressed against it as if hoping it would answer him. The night was quiet, but his body was not. Thirst burned in his throat, making him restless and uncomfortable. Mom was asleep, unaware of his struggle, and Bee Boy didn’t know how else to ask for help.
He began to cry softly at first, then louder, his voice echoing against the wall. Each cry sounded urgent and pleading. He hit the wall gently, again and again, as if trying to wake the whole world. His eyes searched the darkness, hoping mom would hear him soon. His small body swayed, tired and desperate.
The crying grew louder, sharper. Bee Boy’s voice trembled with frustration and need. He wasn’t angry—he was uncomfortable, thirsty, and scared of being ignored. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he continued calling out, his cries finally breaking the silence of the room.
Mom woke suddenly, her heart racing at the sound. She rushed toward Bee Boy and immediately understood. Seeing his tired eyes and dry lips filled her with guilt. She scooped him up gently, holding him close while preparing water. Bee Boy cried one last time, then clung tightly, afraid the relief might disappear again.
The moment water touched his lips, everything changed. He drank eagerly, his body relaxing with each swallow. The tension melted away. His cries faded into quiet breaths, and his eyes slowly closed in comfort.
Mom held him softly, rocking him until calm returned. Bee Boy rested his head against her chest, finally peaceful. The wall no longer mattered. The crying stopped.
That night taught a simple truth. Babies cry not to disturb, but to survive. Bee Boy didn’t wake mom out of mischief—he woke her because he needed her. And when she came, his world felt right again.
In her arms, Bee Boy drifted into sleep, no longer thirsty, no longer afraid. Just safe, comforted, and loved.
