Little Pavpav was having one of those mornings. The moment his caregiver stood up and headed toward the door, he knew what was coming—and he was not okay with it.
“Nooo!! Eeee!!” he screamed, his little hands grabbing the edge of the table where he sat. His eyes grew wide, filled with panic, and his body tensed as he prepared to launch into full tantrum mode.
The caregiver turned and sighed gently, “Pavpav, I’ll just be gone for a minute…”
But to Pavpav, a minute felt like forever. He let out another sharp cry and stomped his tiny foot, then slapped the table, yelling louder as if his voice alone could stop the separation. “EEHH!! DON’T GO!!” he seemed to shout with every dramatic squeal.
When the caregiver opened the door, Pavpav scrambled after, slipping slightly as he followed. He grabbed at pants, feet, anything—his little heart pounding.
Finally, the caregiver turned around, knelt down, and picked him up. Instantly, Pavpav clung tightly like a baby koala, burying his face in the shoulder, sniffling and hiccuping from his outburst.
“You really don’t want me to leave, huh?” the caregiver chuckled softly, rocking him. “Alright, one more cuddle before I go.”
Pavpav’s breath slowed as he melted into the embrace, quiet now but still frowning just a little. The fear of being alone was big for someone so small—but love, and a little patience, always made it better.
