The late morning was quiet except for the soft rustling of leaves outside—until Baby Ricky’s cries filled the air. Lying on the smooth wooden table, his tiny belly rumbled with hunger. His little hands reached out desperately, his face scrunching as his wails grew louder.
Ricky’s round eyes darted toward the kitchen, where Mom was preparing his bottle. He didn’t understand the wait; all he knew was that he was hungry now. His legs kicked in restless rhythm, his cries echoing like a tiny alarm that no one could ignore.
Mom hurried over, bottle in hand, and Ricky’s tears slowed just enough for him to focus. The moment the warm milk touched his lips, his body relaxed. His little fingers clutched at the bottle, as if afraid it might be taken away too soon. With each gulp, the tension melted from his tiny frame.
His tail curled lazily against the table as his eyelids began to droop. The warm milk filled not only his stomach but also his heart with comfort and security. Every now and then, he paused to take a deep breath, then resumed drinking with renewed eagerness.
Mom smiled, watching the transformation from frantic cries to peaceful contentment. She gently stroked the top of his soft head, whispering, “There you go, my little one.” Ricky’s ears twitched at the sound of her voice, and though his eyes were nearly closed, a faint, sleepy smile tugged at his lips.
When the bottle was empty, Ricky let out a tiny satisfied sigh. Mom lifted him from the table into her arms, rocking him gently. His hunger was gone, replaced by the warmth of being loved and cared for.
For Baby Ricky, the world was perfect again—full tummy, safe arms, and the gentle beat of his mom’s heart.
