Baby monkey Nana was usually sweet in the mornings, but today was different. The moment she woke up, she was already hungry—and hunger always made her dramatic. She walked into the kitchen rubbing her sleepy eyes, expecting her milk to be ready, warm, and waiting. But Dad was still preparing the bottle slowly, carefully measuring and mixing the formula.
Nana stared at him in disbelief. Her tiny mouth opened in irritation, and she let out the first sharp cry of the morning. It wasn’t a sad cry—it was the angry kind. She stomped her tiny feet on the wooden floor, her tail flicking behind her like she was scolding him in her own monkey language.
Dad tried to calm her down.
“Just one more minute, Nana,” he said gently.
But one minute felt like forever to a hungry baby. Nana rushed up beside him, pulling at his leg, demanding he hurry. She squealed louder, her little face scrunched in frustration as if asking, How could Dad move this slow when she was literally starving?
Dad filled the bottle, but he tested the temperature to make sure it was safe—and that was the final straw. Nana screamed, throwing her tiny arms in the air like she was in the middle of the world’s greatest tantrum. She even tried to climb up his leg as if she would take over the job herself.
Finally, Dad picked her up and sat her on his lap, handing her the warm bottle. The instant the nipple touched her mouth, total silence fell. Nana grabbed the bottle with both hands, drinking as if she had been waiting for hours. Her trembling body relaxed, and her frustration melted away into relief.
Dad smiled.
Nana didn’t apologize, but she snuggled closer while drinking, showing her love in the only way she knew.
Even angry, she was still Daddy’s little girl—and he wouldn’t trade that for anything.
