In the quiet corner of the kitchen, little Max sat on the edge of a low stool, his eyes wide with anticipation. Mom was just a few steps away, carefully mixing his milk in a bottle. The faint smell of warm milk drifted through the air, making Max’s tiny nose twitch and his mouth water.
He leaned forward, watching every move she made — the way she shook the bottle, the swirl of creamy white liquid inside. His little tail curled in excitement, tapping softly against the stool. Every second felt like an hour, and Max couldn’t keep still.
At first, he tried to be patient, folding his hands in his lap and blinking rapidly as if that would make time go faster. But soon, a small squeak slipped out. Then another. Before long, he was making impatient little chirps and shifting his weight from side to side.
Mom glanced at him and chuckled softly. “Almost ready, Max,” she said, giving the bottle a final shake. But to Max, “almost” was still too long. He bounced lightly, eyes fixed on the bottle as though his gaze alone could pull it into his hands.
Finally, Mom tested the temperature and nodded. She walked over, and Max’s whole face lit up — his cries turned to happy squeals. The moment the bottle touched his hands, he clutched it tightly, tilting it up and drinking as if it was the best thing in the world.
Mom stroked his head gently while he drank, smiling at how much joy something so simple could bring. For Max, the wait had been worth it. His little world was now filled with warmth, comfort, and the sweet taste of milk — made with love.
