Daddy had barely turned his back when a sudden, sharp cry burst through the quiet room. Little Luna, the tiniest ball of restless energy, stood on the wooden floor with her fists curled tight and her eyebrows scrunched in pure frustration. She wobbled once, let out a furious squeal, and then—without warning—she jumped forward in a burst of baby-monkey anger that made Daddy’s heart almost leap out of his chest.
“Luna! What are you doing?!” he gasped, nearly dropping the feeding bottle he was mixing.
But Luna didn’t care. She stamped her tiny feet, puffed her cheeks, and let out another loud, dramatic cry that echoed through the whole house. Daddy rushed toward her, completely shocked. Just moments earlier she had been sitting quietly, looking sweet and innocent, but now she was throwing a storm bigger than her tiny body.
She pointed at the bottle, then at Daddy, then back at herself—her own language for:
“Hurry up! I’m starving and you’re too slow!”
Daddy knelt in front of her, trying to calm the tiny volcano erupting on the wooden floor. But Luna wasn’t having any of it. She jumped again, this time straight into Daddy’s chest, her little arms flailing as she cried out in frustration. The sudden movement stunned him so much he actually stumbled backward.
“Okay, okay! Daddy is making it fast! Please, no more heart attacks today,” he said with a shaky laugh.
Luna grabbed his shirt, still pouting, her tears clinging to her eyelashes like tiny diamonds. But when Daddy finally handed her the warm bottle, everything changed. Her cries softened. Her breathing slowed. She clung to his hand as she drank, as if making sure he wouldn’t slip away again.
Daddy exhaled in relief.
Luna might be tiny—but her emotions were a full-power explosion.
