OMG, the small baby monkey could not wait even one more second. His tiny body shook with impatience, arms flailing, legs kicking against the floor like the world was being unfair to him on purpose. His mouth opened wide, screaming with everything he had, face red, eyes squeezed tight. To watch him was overwhelming, almost choking, because his feelings were so big inside such a small body.
Milk time felt late to him, even though it was only moments away. He cried, rolled, and protested loudly, as if convinced he might be forgotten forever. His hands searched the air desperately, grabbing at nothing, then clenching into little fists. Each scream sounded sharper than the last, cutting straight to the heart. He was not naughty. He was impatient because he needed reassurance, warmth, and comfort right now.
Mom rushed closer, trying to calm him with her voice. She spoke softly, but he cried louder, emotions overflowing faster than she could soothe. Hunger mixed with fear, and fear turned into drama. His chest heaved, breath coming fast, until even watching made others hold their breath too.
Then arms wrapped around him. Everything changed. He resisted for one second, then melted completely. The crying broke into sobs, then hiccups. When the bottle finally touched his lips, the storm stopped instantly. Silence fell, broken only by quick, eager swallows. His body relaxed, anger draining away as milk filled his belly.
Mom held him close, not letting go, even after he slowed. She knew this impatience came from trust—trust that crying would bring her back. Soon his eyes fluttered, heavy and calm, drama forgotten.
The room exhaled with relief. He wasn’t difficult. He was tiny, growing, and learning how to wait in a world that feels too slow. In that moment, impatience wasn’t a problem—it was proof he felt safe enough to demand love.
And love, without fail, answered him again.
