Tiny Ricky sat at the edge of the kitchen doorway, his eyes wide, ears low, and lips trembling with a quiet moan. His tiny arms hugged his knees as he watched Mom move back and forth, busy cooking their morning meal.
The smells drifting through the air only made it harder.
His stomach growled softly, and his heart ached—not just from hunger, but from wanting his mom’s attention. She hadn’t noticed his sad little eyes yet. She was too focused on chopping fruit and stirring warm milk in the pot.
“Hmmmm…” Ricky moaned, a soft, sorrowful sound. His head tilted to the side, as if pleading silently, “Mom… can you look at me?”
He didn’t want to interrupt, but his feelings were bubbling over.
His tail curled tight around his feet as he scooted just a little closer. His gaze never left her, full of longing and confusion. Why was she so close… yet not holding him?
Finally, Mom turned.
She caught his sad little face and paused. Her eyes softened. In a second, she put down the spoon and walked over.
Ricky immediately stood up, arms outstretched. She lifted him gently, and he wrapped his arms tightly around her neck, letting out a relieved sigh.
She whispered, “Just a minute more, my sweet boy,” and kissed his head before placing him on her back while she finished cooking.
Now, close to her heart, Ricky was calm.
