Newborn baby Bubu lay on a soft cloth, eyes wide and shining with need. His tiny stomach felt empty, and the world suddenly seemed too quiet. When Mom stepped away to warm the milk, Bubu’s patience vanished. A sharp cry burst from his chest, loud for someone so small, a tantrum born from hunger and fear combined.
He kicked his legs and waved his arms, face scrunching red as tears pooled at the corners of his eyes. Every second felt heavy. He didn’t understand time, only the ache inside him and the absence of the familiar warmth. His cries rose and fell, filling the room with urgency, calling Mom back faster.
Caregivers stayed close, speaking softly, but Bubu rejected every touch that was not hers. His mouth searched the air, lips trembling, already practicing the comfort he expected. The smell of milk lingered faintly, making his cries even more desperate. Hunger turned into frustration, frustration into full tantrum.
From the other room, Mom hurried, bottle warming in her hands. She heard his cries crack, then pause, then explode again. When she appeared, Bubu’s body stiffened, then leaned forward with hope. He cried louder once more, releasing all the waiting in one breath.
Mom lifted him gently, holding him close. The bottle touched his lips, and instantly the storm broke. Bubu latched on, drinking greedily, eyes fluttering with relief. His body relaxed, fingers uncurling, legs softening. The cries faded into quiet gulps and tiny sighs.
Milk warmed his belly and calm returned to his world. Bubu drank until full, then rested against Mom’s chest, exhausted but peaceful. His tantrum was never bad behavior. It was a newborn’s honest cry for comfort, answered by love, warmth, and a promise that he would never wait alone again tomorrow, stronger, trusting, fed, safe, secure.
