Tiny Kira sat curled on the wooden railing, high above the floor, eyes scanning the ground below. Her little legs twitched with hesitation—she wanted to come down, but something held her back.
She hadn’t gotten her milk yet.
The bottle… the warmth… the comfort of being held—none of it had reached her this morning. And so she sat, silently pouting, body tense with confusion.
From below, Mom was busy washing dishes, unaware of Kira’s quiet suffering. The little one shifted her weight slightly, whimpering just loud enough to be heard.
Still, no response.
Kira’s lip trembled. She leaned her head to the side as if listening for the familiar sound of the bottle being shaken. Nothing. She reached out a tiny hand as if that alone could bring it closer.
And then, a soft squeak escaped her throat—a sound filled with longing.
She didn’t want to jump down without the promise of milk. That bottle meant more than just food. It was connection. It was love. It was her favorite moment of the day.
Finally, Mom turned and saw her perched there—small, patient, and a little heartbroken.
“Oh baby… you’re still waiting?”
Rushing over, Mom scooped her up with gentle arms. Kira didn’t cry or fuss—she just curled into her mother’s chest, eyes blinking with relief. The bottle followed quickly, warm and full. The first sip brought her back to life. Her tiny fingers gripped the bottle tightly, and she gave a small sigh.
Now she didn’t want to come down anymore.
She wanted to stay right there—in the arms that made her feel safe.
Because sometimes, all a baby wants…
Is to feel loved before she ever has to take that step down.
