Morning light crept softly into the room, but peace did not follow it. Ronaldo was already awake, sitting upright with messy fur and impatient eyes. The moment he realized bath time had not started, his tiny heart exploded with frustration. He wanted his morning bath now, not later, not after anything else.
He cried loudly, sharp calls echoing as he looked around for mom. His hands slapped the mat, feet kicking as he leaned forward, yelling with all his strength. To Ronaldo, the bath wasn’t just water. It was routine. Comfort. The start of a good day. Waiting felt unbearable.
He crawled toward the bathroom, then stopped, turning back to cry again, hoping mom would hear him. His face turned red, tears spilling freely as his voice cracked. Each cry sounded like a demand mixed with pleading. He wasn’t being naughty—he was overwhelmed by impatience and need.
When mom didn’t appear instantly, the tantrum grew bigger. Ronaldo threw himself down, rolling slightly, then sat up again, screaming louder. He called for mom again and again, breath hitching between cries. Time felt slow and unfair to such a small heart.
Finally, mom came in, kneeling beside him. Ronaldo froze for one second, then cried even harder, as if releasing everything he had been holding inside. He reached for her, clinging tightly, still sobbing as she lifted him up.
Mom spoke softly, rubbing his back, explaining with gentle touches instead of words. Slowly, Ronaldo’s cries softened. His body relaxed, though he still sniffled, eyes locked on the bathroom.
When the warm water finally touched him, everything changed. His shoulders dropped. His breathing slowed. The anger melted away, replaced by calm. Ronaldo leaned into mom’s hands, peace returning at last.
For Ronaldo, the tantrum wasn’t about disobedience. It was about needing comfort on time. Some mornings, little hearts just can’t wait.
