It was another bright morning, and baby Milo was in no mood for his usual bath. At six months old, Milo had developed quite the personality—and when he didn’t like something, the whole house knew about it. Today, he was already sulking before the water even started running. His mom had carried him to the bathroom, knowing that bath time was going to be another uphill battle. The bathroom was a small, tiled space, with a toilet in the corner, a small basin, and a few bath supplies sitting on the shelves. Milo’s mom had set out a towel, a gentle shampoo, and a soft scrubber to clean his tiny fur. The air was cool, and a small stream of sunlight filtered through the window, but none of that mattered to Milo. He was already fidgeting in his mom’s arms, shaking his head as if he could sense what was coming.
“Milo, we’ve got to get you cleaned up,” his mom said softly, trying to calm him down. But the moment she placed him on the toilet seat lid, the tantrum began.
Milo’s small face scrunched up in frustration, and he let out a loud wail. His hands waved wildly in protest as his mom turned on the water, filling a small bucket to gently rinse him off. He hated bath time, especially the shampoo part, and this morning was no different. His mom had barely touched the bottle when Milo’s angry cries turned into a full-blown tantrum.
As she poured a small amount of shampoo into her hand and gently started massaging it into his fur, Milo’s patience hit its limit. He let out an ear-piercing scream, his little arms flailing in the air. His face was a mixture of anger and distress, and the more his mom scrubbed, the more intense his wailing became.
“Milo, it’s just shampoo, it won’t hurt,” she reassured him, but Milo was not having it. He hated the slippery feeling of the soap, the way it made his fur feel strange, and most of all, he hated being held still.
With a dramatic sob, Milo began thrashing around, his legs kicking as he tried to push his mom’s hands away. In his frustration, he suddenly lost his balance and slipped off the toilet seat lid. His little body tumbled down, landing on the floor with a soft thud. For a moment, everything went quiet, as if time had paused. Then came the explosion.
Milo, lying on his back on the cool tiles, started crying even louder. His small body shook with frustration, and he began kicking his legs furiously, throwing what could only be described as a full-blown seizure of rage. His tiny fists hit the ground as he screamed, his fur now half-covered in soap, making him look like a wet, miserable ball of fluff.
“Milo, oh no!” his mom said, rushing to pick him up. She tried to calm him down, but Milo was far too worked up. His cries turned into hiccups as he continued to flail, his body tense with anger. Even though he wasn’t hurt from the fall, his pride certainly was, and he wasn’t going to let it go easily.
Lying on the bathroom floor, Milo refused to let his mom pick him up. He kicked and cried, his tiny chest heaving with each sob. His face was streaked with water and shampoo bubbles, making him look even more pitiful. His mom, crouched down beside him, couldn’t help but feel a mix of sympathy and exasperation.
“Milo, come on. We just need to finish up, and then you’ll be all clean,” she said soothingly. But Milo wasn’t in the mood for reasoning. He squirmed and kicked some more, even pushing his feet against his mom’s arms as she tried to lift him back onto the toilet seat.
After what felt like an eternity, Milo’s tantrum finally began to slow down. His sobs turned into soft whimpers, his little body still shaking as he lay on the floor. His mom took this moment to quickly finish rinsing him off, being extra gentle to avoid triggering another meltdown. She poured the last of the water over his fur, washing away the remaining soap and suds, while Milo stayed sprawled on the bathroom floor, too tired to protest any further.
Once the shampoo was all gone, Milo’s mom gently scooped him up in a soft towel and wrapped him tightly, cradling him in her arms. His tiny head poked out from the towel, and his once-angry eyes were now heavy with exhaustion. He sniffled, still upset, but the tantrum had drained most of his energy.
“There, all done,” his mom said, rocking him slightly. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Milo let out a soft grunt, clearly not agreeing. But he was too tired to put up any more of a fight. His small hands gripped the edges of the towel as his mom carried him out of the bathroom and into the warm sunlight. Clean and bundled up, Milo finally started to calm down. His little body relaxed in his mom’s arms, and soon enough, the terrible bath time was nothing more than a distant memory.
