It was a peaceful morning in the house, with the soft sound of birds chirping outside the window. Harry, the five-month-old baby monkey, had just finished his breakfast and was in an especially moody state. His mom, noticing he had a lot of energy, decided it was time for him to play on his own for a bit. She gently placed Harry down on the soft, cushioned floor of the living room, thinking he would enjoy a few minutes of playtime while she attended to some chores.
The moment his tiny feet touched the ground, his mood shifted. His mom gave him a few of his favorite toys—a little ball, a wooden stick, and a soft cloth doll that he usually cuddled with. She smiled at him, expecting him to explore and play happily, but instead, Harry’s sharp temper kicked in. He wanted to be held, not left alone on the ground.
As soon as his mom turned her back to head to the kitchen, Harry let out a loud, piercing cry. It wasn’t just any cry; it was the kind of sharp, demanding wail that showed his refusal to be left on the floor. His little hands clenched into fists, and his face scrunched up in frustration. He was determined to let everyone know he was not happy with the situation.
His mom paused and looked back at him, smiling gently. “Come on, Harry, play with your toys. I’ll be right back,” she said in a calm voice, hoping to soothe him. But Harry wasn’t having it. The second she spoke, he threw the soft cloth doll across the room in defiance. His tiny legs kicked furiously, and he pounded his little fists on the ground in a full-blown tantrum.
Harry’s cries echoed through the house as if he were declaring war on being left alone. His mom tried to ignore the outburst for a moment, hoping he would settle down and adjust to playing by himself. But Harry’s temper only grew sharper. His cries became more intense, and he flung his body onto his back, thrashing on the floor, unwilling to calm down. His face turned red, and tears began streaming down his cheeks.
His mom sighed and walked over to him, kneeling beside him to try and calm him down. She stroked his soft head and tried to soothe him with her gentle voice. “Harry, baby, it’s okay. Mommy’s right here,” she said, hoping to ease his temper. But instead of quieting down, Harry pushed her hands away with his tiny fists, refusing any comfort.
He wanted to be picked up, held, and cuddled in her arms. Nothing else would make him happy at that moment. His rejection of the ground was absolute. His mom, still patient, gently lifted him into her arms, thinking this might ease the situation. But to her surprise, Harry continued to cry even when held. He had worked himself into such a temper that not even his favorite comfort—being cradled—could calm him.
She carried him to the rocking chair in the corner of the room, softly swaying back and forth to soothe him. “Shh, shh, it’s okay, little one. Mommy’s got you,” she whispered into his ear. Harry’s cries started to soften, though he was still hiccuping and sobbing. His tiny body, now exhausted from the tantrum, began to relax in his mom’s arms.
After a few minutes of rocking, Harry’s sobs turned into soft whimpers, and he finally snuggled into his mom’s chest, clutching her shirt tightly with his little hands. His sharp temper had finally subsided, and he began to calm down. His mom smiled down at him, relieved that the storm had passed.
“You’ve got quite the temper, my little Harry,” she said, kissing the top of his head. Harry blinked up at her with tired eyes, his earlier defiance now replaced with a look of innocence and contentment. He gave a little yawn, and before long, his eyes began to close as he drifted off into a peaceful nap in her arms.
Though his temper had been sharp and strong, it melted away just as quickly once he was back in his mom’s embrace. As she rocked him gently, she couldn’t help but laugh softly to herself, knowing that her little boy’s fiery spirit was just a part of his growing personality.
