The kitchen was busy, but for little Minea, it felt like time had completely stopped.
She sat nearby, watching every move Mom made.
The bottle.
The warm water.
The milk powder.
Shake… shake… shake…
Too slow.
Way too slow.
Minea’s tiny face tightened with frustration. Her hungry stomach couldn’t wait another second, and every little step Mom took felt like forever.
She wanted milk.
Now.
Her lips pushed forward into a dramatic pout, and then—
“AHHH!”
She screamed sharply, her tiny voice cutting through the room like lightning. Tears filled her eyes as she waved her small hands angrily, demanding faster service.
“Mama! Mama!”
Her cry echoed louder, filled with pure baby outrage.
Mom glanced over and sighed softly. “I’m making it, Minea… just wait.”
Wait?
Absolutely not.
Minea screamed again, even louder this time, her face turning red with impatience. She kicked her little legs and bounced with frustration, as if yelling harder would make the milk appear instantly.
To her, this was an emergency.
The most serious emergency in the world.
She wasn’t trying to be naughty.
She was simply starving… and dramatic.
Finally, the bottle was ready.
Mom turned with the warm milk in hand.
The moment Minea saw it, her cries changed from angry screams to desperate little whimpers of relief. She reached forward with both hands, almost launching herself toward it.
“There we go,” Mom whispered, lifting her gently.
As soon as the bottle touched her lips, silence.
Peace.
Minea drank eagerly, her whole body relaxing with every gulp.
The storm disappeared as quickly as it had come.
Because sometimes, for a tiny baby with a big attitude—
Waiting five minutes for milk feels like the longest tragedy in history.
