As soon as his tiny feet touched the ground, Harry’s face crumpled into a tragic pout. His big, round eyes filled with tears, and his lips quivered. He looked up at his mom with a heartbreaking expression, as if asking, How could you do this to me?
But sadness quickly turned to anger. Harry let out a sharp cry, his tiny fists clenching at his sides. He stomped his little feet and puffed out his cheeks, his face scrunching into an adorable yet fiery look of frustration.
“Harry, sweetheart, I’ll be right here,” his mom said, trying to calm him as she turned to walk away.
Harry wasn’t having any of it. His cries grew louder, each one more dramatic than the last. He flopped onto the floor, his tail curling in defiance. His tiny hands slapped the ground as if to say, I won’t forgive you for this!
His mom, used to his tantrums, glanced back and sighed. She returned, knelt beside him, and said with a soft smile, “Oh, Harry, you’re such a little troublemaker.”
As soon as she picked him up, Harry’s anger melted into soft sniffles. He clung tightly to her, burying his face in her shoulder as if to say, This is where I belong.
For Harry, nothing compared to being held by his mom, and for her, his dramatic antics were just part of his charm.
