Tiny baby Doddy had been waiting for what felt like forever. His stomach was empty, his body small, and his patience even smaller. The sky outside was already changing colors, and still Mom had not returned. Every sound made him lift his head, every shadow gave him hope. But minutes passed, and the milk did not come.
At first, Doddy only whimpered. He sucked his lips, rubbed his face, and rocked his body gently, trying to calm himself the way Mom usually taught him. Hunger burned inside, twisting into discomfort. His eyes slowly filled with tears. When the door stayed closed, his calm completely disappeared.
Suddenly, Doddy exploded into a full tantrum. He cried loudly, angrily, his tiny voice shaking the room. His arms flailed, feet kicked the floor, and his whole body trembled with frustration. To him, Mom working late felt like abandonment. Milk time was safety time, and safety was late.
He screamed again and again, calling for Mom with broken cries. Caregivers tried to comfort him, rocking, whispering, offering warmth. Doddy rejected everything. No arms felt right. No voice sounded right. Only Mom could fix this feeling. His cries grew sharper, mixed with anger and sadness, the kind only a hungry baby understands.
When Mom finally rushed in, tired but worried, Doddy saw her instantly. His angry cries peaked one last time, as if releasing all the pain he held inside. He reached out desperately, fingers shaking. Mom scooped him up, apologizing softly, pressing him close to her chest.
The bottle came quickly. Doddy latched on fiercely, still sobbing between gulps. Milk spilled slightly as he drank too fast, afraid it might disappear again. Slowly, warmth spread through his belly. His body relaxed, cries fading into quiet hiccups.
Doddy rested against Mom, exhausted but full. His tantrum wasn’t bad behavior. It was hunger, love, and fear tangled together. In Mom’s arms, with milk at last, his world became safe again.
