The nursery was quiet that morning, filled with the gentle hum of fans and the soft rustle of blankets. In a small, warm basket lay a newborn baby monkey — barely a week old, fragile as a whisper. Her fur was thin and silky, her tiny chest rising and falling with each shallow breath.
She had just woken up from a nap, her little tummy rumbling for milk. But her caretaker was still preparing the bottle, and the few moments of waiting felt like forever to her. She began to fidget, her eyes blinking open, letting out a faint “eee…” — the sound of a baby trying to stay calm.
Then, almost instinctively, she lifted her tiny hand to her mouth and began to suck on her own finger. The motion was soft, rhythmic, and soothing. Her breathing steadied. Her eyes fluttered halfway closed as comfort washed over her like a lullaby.
The caretaker watched, heart melting at the sight. “Oh, sweet little one,” she whispered, smiling as she knelt beside the basket. “You already know how to calm yourself.”
The baby continued sucking gently, her little lips moving, her hand trembling ever so slightly. For a moment, she looked like the purest symbol of peace — innocent, trusting, and utterly content.
When the warm milk was finally ready, the caretaker lifted her up and placed the bottle near her lips. The newborn paused, letting go of her finger just long enough to latch onto the nipple. Her eyes drifted closed completely, her whole body relaxing in her caretaker’s arms.
After her meal, she nestled into a tiny ball, sighing softly — her finger still resting near her mouth, ready for the next moment of calm.
In her little world, love and safety had already found her.
