It was a warm afternoon, and baby Harry was lounging on the concrete porch, refusing to move. His mom had tried everything to get him up—coaxing, calling, even offering a piece of juicy fruit—but Harry wasn’t having it.
Instead, he sat there, his tiny arms crossed and his face scrunched into the most stubborn pout. The lazy little monkey let out a loud, dramatic cry. “Ee-eee-EEEEE!” His wails echoed around the yard, startling a few birds into flight.
Mom sighed, her patience wearing thin. She stood nearby with a basket of laundry, shaking her head. “Harry, you can’t just sit there crying all day,” she said firmly. “You need to move around, play, and stop being so lazy!”
But Harry didn’t care. His little legs kicked at the air as he rolled onto his back, still screaming. Tears streaked his cheeks as he looked at Mom with a mix of anger and desperation.
“Eeeeeeeek!” he wailed, as if the entire world had wronged him.
Mom tried to ignore the tantrum, focusing on folding the clothes. But Harry’s cries only grew louder, more pitiful with each passing second. Finally, Mom stomped over, her face stern.
“Harry, enough!” she said, picking him up and setting him back down on his feet. “You’re not a baby anymore—start acting like a big boy!”
Harry sniffled, his cries softening to little hiccups. He stared at Mom, his big, watery eyes brimming with guilt. Slowly, he stopped screaming and sat quietly, sulking.
Mom gave him a knowing smile and handed him a small piece of fruit. “Good boy,” she said, ruffling his fur.
Harry took the fruit, nibbling it quietly, though his pout remained. Lazy or not, he loved Mom too much to stay angry for long.
