The morning sun gently lit the cozy room where tiny Kira stirred under her soft blanket. Her little fingers wiggled, her legs kicked lightly—and then, her eyes popped open.
She blinked once, then again, and suddenly remembered: she was hungry.
Without waiting another second, she let out a soft, moaning cry, her voice rising with every breath.
“Eeek! Eeeehh!”
It wasn’t loud yet, but it was urgent.
Mom, just a few steps away, was preparing to change Kira’s old diaper first. But Kira didn’t want to wait. The hunger inside her tiny belly was louder than anything else.
She sat up clumsily, arms stretched out toward her mom, whimpering like a helpless newborn. Her bottom squished against the damp diaper, but she didn’t care—milk was what she needed.
Mom turned around, smiling gently.
“Oh baby, let’s clean you up first, then milk,” she said sweetly.
But Kira disagreed.
With a louder cry, she rocked her body forward, crawling unsteadily toward the milk bottle she could see sitting on the table. Her nose scrunched up in frustration. Her voice cracked. She even threw her arms up dramatically, begging for comfort.
Mom chuckled softly. “Alright, alright. Milk first, little boss.”
She scooped Kira into her arms and offered the warm bottle. Kira latched on immediately, eyes fluttering with relief. Her tiny body relaxed, all tantrum forgotten.
After a few minutes of feeding, Kira lay peacefully in Mom’s lap, warm and full.
Only then—and only then—did she allow her old diaper to be changed.
Because for baby Kira, milk always came first, even before comfort or cleanliness.
And in her little world, love tasted like warm milk in safe arms.
