Poor little Shala exploded into a full tantrum the moment daddy placed her on the table and stepped away. Her tiny face turned red with anger, eyes wide and wet, body stiff with protest. She did not understand why she was left there, even for a moment. To her, it felt like abandonment all over again.
Shala slammed her small hands against the table, kicking her feet wildly. Her cries were sharp, loud, and full of temper, shaking her whole body. She leaned forward, then back, screaming as if calling daddy to turn around immediately. Every second without him felt too long.
Daddy paused nearby, watching with concern. He knew Shala was not naughty. She was scared. She had been through too much already, and being left alone—even briefly—made old fear rush back into her tiny heart. Shala’s tantrum was not about anger alone. It was about trust.
Her cries grew louder, then suddenly broke into sobs. Her body trembled, shoulders shaking as tears streamed down her cheeks. She reached out into the air, fingers opening and closing, begging to be picked up. The table felt cold. The space felt empty.
Daddy returned quickly, lifting her into his arms. Instantly, Shala clung to his shirt with desperate strength. Her screams softened into hiccuping sobs. Her head pressed against his chest, listening to the heartbeat she needed so badly.
Slowly, her breathing calmed. The anger melted into exhaustion. Daddy whispered softly, rocking her side to side. Shala sniffed, still upset, but safe again. Her grip loosened just a little.
In his arms, Shala remembered she was not alone. The world felt steady again. The tantrum faded, replaced by quiet comfort.
Sometimes, a baby’s temper is really fear wearing a loud voice. Shala didn’t need discipline. She needed reassurance, closeness, and love. And once she felt that, her storm passed, leaving only a tired little girl who wanted to be held, protected, and never left behind again.
