Morning sunlight slipped gently through the window, warming the wooden table where Baby Ronaldo sat. But the little monkey didn’t care about sunshine or morning calm—he cared only about one thing: breakfast. And today, Mom was taking far too long.
At first, Ronaldo tried to be patient. He shifted on his tiny bottom, looked around the room, tapped the table with his fingertips, and sucked his lips as he waited. But the hunger in his belly grew bigger and bigger, and soon patience completely disappeared. His small face wrinkled with frustration. His brows lowered. His mouth formed a perfect little O.
Then it happened—
“EEEEHHHH! EEEEEHHH!”
Ronaldo let out a scream so loud it echoed through the whole house.
He threw his arms in the air, stamping his feet like a furious toddler. He twisted his body back and forth, screaming with all the strength he had left. It was his morning routine—wake up, wait a little, and then cry dramatically when breakfast didn’t arrive exactly when he wanted it.
He crawled toward the edge of the table, looking in the direction where Mom usually prepared his meal. When she didn’t appear, he screamed even louder, grabbing the blanket and shaking it like he was demanding, “Mom! Come NOW! I’m starving!”
Just then, Mom hurried in, holding a warm milk bottle in one hand and a small plate of soft fruit in the other.
“Ronaldo, my noisy boy, I’m right here,” she said warmly.
Ronaldo stopped mid-scream, eyes glowing with relief. He scrambled toward her, climbing onto her arm with desperate little squeaks. The moment the bottle touched his mouth, he began to drink greedily, his whole body relaxing as the first drops slid down his throat.
Mom stroked his fluffy head gently.
“There you go, sweetheart. Breakfast always comes—no need to scream the whole house down.”
