Minea had woken up with a fire inside her—a stubborn, stormy energy that refused to settle. From the moment she left her little basket, her tiny brows were already furrowed, her lips pouty, and her tail flicking with irritation. Nothing felt right to her, not the blanket, not the room, and definitely not Mom’s gentle voice calling her to come closer.
Mom knelt beside her, reaching out a soft hand. “Minea, calm down, sweetheart… come here.”
But Minea jerked away with a sharp squeal, her little chest puffing up like a rebellious drum. She stomped her tiny feet, throwing her hands up in frustration. She didn’t want to listen. She didn’t want to sit. She didn’t want to breathe slowly. She just wanted the world to understand her feelings—even if she didn’t understand them herself.
Mom tried again, patient as ever. “No, baby… we don’t scream at Mommy. Come, calm down.”
But Minea let out an even louder cry, her voice cracking with emotion. She shook her head so hard her fur puffed up, tears starting to gather in her big round eyes. She wasn’t trying to be bad—she was overwhelmed, tired, and unable to express the storm swirling inside her tiny body.
Mom gently picked her up despite her squirming. Minea pushed against her chest, still crying, still resisting. But Mom held her, steady and warm.
“It’s okay… Mommy’s here. Calm down, my little girl.”
Slowly, Minea’s breath began to soften.
Her cries turned into whimpers.
Her stiff little arms relaxed.
Her forehead rested against Mom’s shoulder.
Mom rubbed her back with slow circles, whispering soothing words. The world finally felt safe again—soft, warm, and familiar.
Minea wasn’t stubborn anymore.
She was just a tired baby, needing love more than anything.
