The morning sun filtered through the tiny bathroom window, casting streaks of golden light on the tiled walls. Milo, the spirited baby monkey, sat stubbornly on the bathroom floor, his little body tense and his face scrunched into a pout. He was already fussy, and it seemed today’s bath would be a battle of wills. His mom, holding a bottle of shampoo in one hand and a clean diaper in the other, took a deep breath. She knew Milo disliked bath time, but leaving him unclean wasn’t an option. His old diaper, soiled and smelly, had to go, and his fur needed a proper wash.
The moment her hand reached for him, Milo let out a piercing cry, sharp enough to echo off the bathroom walls. He waved his tiny arms wildly, his small body wriggling like a fish out of water.
“Nooo! Eeeek! Aaaah!” he screamed, as if he were protesting an unimaginable injustice.
“Milo, stop it!” his mom scolded, her patience already wearing thin.
But Milo wasn’t about to listen. He kicked his legs, flailing with such intensity that he knocked over the small bucket of water she had prepared. The water splashed everywhere, soaking both of them and making the floor slippery.
“Milo!” she exclaimed in frustration. “Look at this mess! Sit still!”
Milo, however, had no intention of calming down. His loud cries turned into an orchestra of wails as he refused to let her touch him. Every time she reached for him with the shampoo, he squirmed and twisted his body as if he were being attacked.
“No shampoo! Nooo!” he shrieked, waving his arms and shaking his head vigorously. His little hands slapped at the air in defiance, sending droplets of water flying around the room.
His mom’s patience was on its last thread. She tried holding him firmly, but Milo wiggled free like a slippery eel. His tantrum escalated further when she finally managed to get a dollop of shampoo onto his fur.
Milo wailed at the top of his lungs, throwing his head back dramatically as if the suds were poison. He splashed water everywhere, turning the small bathroom into a chaotic battlefield.
“That’s it, Milo!” his mom said, her voice rising. She stood up, frustration evident on her face. Her hand lifted slightly in the air, not to hit him but as a stern warning.
For a split second, Milo froze. His big, round eyes locked onto her raised hand. He stopped crying, his little chest heaving as he caught his breath.
“Do you want me to get really mad?” she asked, her tone firm but controlled.
Milo whimpered, his lips trembling. He understood the tone, even if he didn’t like it. Slowly, he lowered his arms, though his face still held a defiant pout.
“Good,” she said, lowering her hand. She grabbed the small sponge and quickly cleaned his fur before he could start another tantrum.
The rest of the bath was no less dramatic, with Milo grumbling and whining under his breath. When it was finally over, his mom wrapped him in a soft towel and held him close.
“See? That wasn’t so bad,” she said, kissing his damp forehead.
Milo huffed, refusing to meet her gaze. He sat wrapped in the towel, sulking like a little prince who felt utterly betrayed.
By the time he was dressed in a fresh diaper and clean shirt, he had calmed down. But his mom knew it wouldn’t be long before the next battle — because with Milo, there was always another tantrum just around the corner.
