In the early morning, when the sky is just beginning to glow with the soft light of dawn, baby Jerry is already up, full of energy and mischief. At just about a year old, he’s still small, with a round little belly and that fluffy, messy fur that somehow always looks like he’s just woken up. Today, like every other day, his mom had the daily challenge of cleaning Jerry’s old diaper. He wriggled and squirmed, making the task a bit more difficult than it needed to be. But finally, with the old diaper off and a fresh one in place, mom scooped him up with a sigh of relief and took him inside the room. Jerry, clueless about the morning chores, was blissfully unaware of the next steps. Mom had to leave him for a few minutes to fetch his things — his little milk bottle, a fresh outfit, and whatever else he’d need to join breakfast.
The moment she stepped out of the room, all chaos broke loose. Jerry, as if sensing her absence like a radar, began to pout dramatically. His tiny lips curled downward in the most exaggerated way, almost like a little cartoon character. He looked around, wide-eyed, realizing that he was left all alone for the first time this morning. Then, it started. The whimpering. It began low at first, just a soft little moan, but then it grew into full-on lip-smacking drama. Each time his lips smacked together, it was like he was trying to summon his mom back with the sound. To anyone watching, it would’ve been hilarious. But Jerry, with his very serious one-year-old mind, was taking this abandonment very personally.
He sat there on the floor, clutching at his toes, his little legs splayed out in front of him, looking quite the pitiful sight. But the pièce de résistance was when he bared his teeth in between his moans. Jerry’s teeth were in that awkward phase where baby monkeys’ milk teeth start to look a little wonky. One of his front teeth had a tiny chip, giving him the funniest, most awkward grin. The combination of his puffy cheeks, his black broken tooth, and his lip-smacking cries was almost too much to handle. It was as if he was putting on a show for an invisible audience, playing the tragic hero of a monkey drama.
Every now and then, he’d pause his crying just to look towards the door, hoping his mom would come back any second. But when she didn’t, the moaning continued, louder and with more lip-smacking involved. He slapped the floor with his tiny hand, trying to make a point, though the only person witnessing his performance was a nearby stuffed toy. The toy, unbothered by Jerry’s antics, simply stared back with its lifeless button eyes.
Mom, meanwhile, was just outside, probably chuckling to herself. She knew Jerry’s theatrics too well by now. This wasn’t the first time her little drama king had thrown a fit for attention. She could imagine exactly what was happening behind that door — the tears, the wails, the ridiculous pout, and of course, that broken-tooth grin that was equal parts pitiful and adorable.
As Jerry’s performance reached its climax, he threw himself onto his back, rolling a little like a beetle that couldn’t quite get up, his little feet kicking into the air. His tiny tantrum was in full swing, complete with the occasional pause for dramatic effect, where he’d stop, listen intently, and when his mom didn’t appear, resume the moaning with double the effort. His lip-smacking grew more frequent, as if each little smack could somehow summon her back faster.
When his mom finally returned, Jerry froze mid-cry, like an actor caught out of character. His pout remained, but the crying ceased almost immediately. He gave her a big, wide-eyed look, one that screamed “Where have you been?” She looked down at him, his broken tooth on full display as he attempted one last pathetic whimper. She couldn’t help but laugh. This little monkey had put on quite the show, but now, with a bottle of milk in her hand, peace was quickly restored. Jerry reached out, all the drama forgotten, and grabbed the bottle with both hands, happily sucking away. The morning theatrics were over… for now.
