Chamroeun was having one of those days.
He was moody from the moment he woke up—didn’t want breakfast, didn’t want cuddles, and especially didn’t want to sit in his high chair.
But Daddy insisted.
“Chamroeun, come sit down, baby,” he said gently, patting the soft cushion on the chair. “It’s lunch time.”
Chamroeun froze.
His face scrunched up like a thundercloud. His little lips tightened, his brow furrowed, and then—he screamed. A dramatic, high-pitched, full-volume monkey tantrum. He threw his arms in the air and flopped backward onto the floor like the world had just ended.
Daddy blinked, trying not to laugh. “Why are you like this today?”
Chamroeun rolled over, tail flicking, and pointed at the chair like it was some kind of prison. He didn’t want to sit. He wanted to climb, swing, explore. Not sit. Never sit.
When Daddy picked him up and tried again, Chamroeun arched his back and let out a dramatic cry that echoed through the house. You’d think he was being forced to wear shoes made of bees.
Finally, Daddy gave in—just a little.
He sat on the floor, holding the bottle. “Okay then. Come here. But just for today.”
Chamroeun peeked out from behind the curtain, eyes narrowed suspiciously. Slowly, he waddled over, climbed into Daddy’s lap, and began drinking.
He wasn’t happy about it. He grumbled between sips. But he was hungry.
Daddy smiled, rubbing his back. “You win this time, little storm cloud.”
Chamroeun didn’t reply. He was busy giving side-eyes to the evil chair.
Some days, moods ruled everything. But even then, Daddy’s lap was still the safest place in the world.
