It was a warm and serene morning, the sun barely peeking over the horizon, casting a golden glow over the landscape. Birds chirped happily, and a light breeze rustled through the trees. Everything seemed peaceful, except for one small creature whose cries shattered the tranquility—baby monkey Milo. It was bath time, and Milo was having none of it.The water well, located just outside the home, was where the morning routine would take place. The stone well was old but sturdy, with a bucket dangling from a rope, ready to draw fresh water from its depths. Milo’s human mom had been preparing the water, adding a bit of shampoo and ensuring the temperature was just right. She knew that bath time was always a challenge, but today seemed particularly difficult. Milo, sitting by the well in his old, worn diaper, sensed what was coming and had already begun to express his strong disagreement.
“Noooo!” Milo seemed to scream in his own baby monkey language, shaking his tiny head vigorously. His soft, brown fur bristled, and his small face contorted into a pout as his cries grew louder and louder. His little arms waved wildly, as if to push away the very idea of a bath. It was clear: Milo hated bath time.
His human mom, patient and loving, knew this was part of the daily struggle. She had raised Milo since he was about a month old, and though they shared an unbreakable bond, there were certain things he simply despised—bathing was at the top of that list. With a sigh, she knelt by the well and gently lifted the squirming, protesting Milo into her arms. He kicked his little legs in defiance, his cries echoing through the early morning air.
“Milo, it’s okay,” she cooed softly, trying to calm him down. “We need to get you all clean. Your diaper’s dirty, and I know you’ll feel much better afterward.”
But Milo wasn’t having it. His large, expressive eyes filled with frustration, and his cries intensified. He hated the feel of water, the way it soaked into his fur, and especially the way it made him feel vulnerable. His human mom, though, was determined. Holding him firmly but lovingly, she carefully began to peel off his diaper. The diaper was old, stained from a night of wear, and she knew it needed a good scrubbing.
With one hand holding the wriggling Milo, she dipped the diaper into the soapy water. The bubbles rose to the surface as she scrubbed the fabric, her fingers working diligently to rid it of the stains. Milo, meanwhile, twisted his little body, trying to escape the inevitable bath. He waved his arms and legs, and his tail flopped around, his whole body expressing his displeasure.
“I know, sweetheart, I know,” she whispered, though her voice was nearly drowned out by his cries. “Just a little longer, and we’ll be done.”
As she scrubbed, she could feel Milo’s tiny heart racing against her chest, his tension palpable. His cries were now mixed with pitiful whimpers, his head shaking from side to side as if pleading for mercy. But despite his protests, his mom remained calm. She understood that this was just a part of his routine tantrum, something he’d done many times before, and something he would likely continue to do until he got older.
Finally, the diaper was clean. With one swift movement, she dipped Milo’s lower body into the water, splashing it over him to wash away any remnants of the night. His reaction was immediate. Milo screeched in horror, his little hands clutching onto her for dear life. His eyes widened as the cold water touched his skin, and he wriggled in her grip, desperate to get away.
“Almost done, Milo,” she reassured him. “Almost done.”
After what felt like an eternity for Milo, the bath was finally over. His mom quickly wrapped him in a soft towel, drying his soaked fur and rubbing him down with gentle strokes. Milo, exhausted from his ordeal, clung to her, his little body trembling slightly from the experience. But his mom wasn’t finished yet. She had one more trick up her sleeve.
With a smile, she reached for a bottle of milk, knowing that a good feeding was exactly what Milo needed to feel better. As soon as the bottle touched his lips, Milo’s cries stopped. He began to suck eagerly, his tiny fingers clutching the bottle as if it were the only thing that could soothe his wounded pride.
“There you go,” his mom whispered, stroking his head. “See, it’s not so bad.”
Milo, still sniffling but calmer now, drank quietly. His earlier tantrum seemed like a distant memory as he nestled against his mom, content in her arms. The morning air was once again filled with peace, the sun climbing higher into the sky, casting warm rays on the little monkey and his loving mom. Though Milo hated bath time, there was no denying the comfort of a mother’s care.
