Poor baby monkey still refused the bottle, turning her face away as milk warmed beside her. Hunger should have made her eager, yet fear held tighter. The nipple felt strange, nothing like mom’s comfort. She whimpered softly, eyes glossy, body weak, ribs rising fast.
Mom tried again, patient and calm. She squeezed a drop onto the baby’s lips, waiting. The baby tasted, frowned, and cried, pushing the bottle aside with trembling hands. Panic crept in. Time mattered. Strength mattered. Love mattered most.
Mom changed positions, cradling her closer, letting heartbeat speak first. She rubbed the baby’s back, hummed, slowed the room. The bottle returned, angled gently, never forced. Still refusal. Tears slid. Not stubbornness, just confusion.
So mom adapted. She warmed the milk a touch more, checked the flow, softened the nipple, and tried skin to skin. The baby quieted, breathing syncing, fear easing. A tiny lick happened, then a pause. Mom waited. No rush. Trust first.
Another try. One small swallow. Then another. The baby sputtered, surprised, then accepted a few drops. Mom stopped immediately, praising softly, protecting confidence. The bottle rested. Holding resumed. Safety stayed.
Minutes later, they tried again. This time the baby latched briefly, drank a little, and rested. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Hope returned.
Mom cleaned the baby’s chin, wrapped her warmly, and kept watch. She knew progress comes in inches, not leaps. Bottles can be learned. Trust must be earned.
That night, the baby slept fuller than before, not full yet, but safer. Mom promised patience tomorrow, and the next day too. Because love feeds before milk does, and when fear loosens, acceptance follows, slowly, gently, surely. Morning will bring another gentle attempt, steady hands, warmer hope, careful sips, and a brave baby learning trust again with mom beside her always.
