Tiny Jasmine had never been this impatient before. From the moment she opened her eyes, her little tummy growled louder than her morning squeaks. She looked around the room, expecting Mommy to appear with her warm bottle—but no one came right away. Her face tightened, her brows pushing together, and that familiar storm began to build inside her tiny chest.
Still wrapped in her soft little robe, Jasmine tugged at it with frustrated hands. First a small pull… then a harder yank… and then she began shaking it as if the robe itself was to blame for her hunger. When nothing changed, her lips parted, and the sound burst out of her like a baby thunderclap—Jasmine began crying loudly, the kind of cry that echoed from her toes all the way up to her trembling voice.
She stomped her tiny feet and pulled again at her robe, as though that motion might magically make the bottle appear faster. Tears rolled down her cheeks, warm and shiny, dripping onto her little hands. Her belly rumbled again, pushing her tantrum to an even louder level. She wasn’t just hungry—she felt helpless, small, and desperate for comfort.
She climbed onto the edge of her blanket, lifting both arms in the air, calling for Mommy with every loud scream. Jasmine’s little voice shook with sadness, frustration, and desperation. She wanted milk… she needed milk… and she needed it now.
Then finally—soft footsteps approached.
Mommy appeared in the doorway holding the warm bottle, steam gently rising from the nipple. Jasmine froze for a moment, her cries cutting short as hope filled her eyes. She scrambled toward Mommy, almost tripping over her own robe as she reached forward with both hands.
The moment the bottle touched her lips, Jasmine’s world calmed. Her cries faded, her body relaxed, and her little robe—now wrinkled and wet with tears—fell quietly around her as she drank in pure peace.
