Morning light filtered softly through the trees, painting the forest in pale gold. Dew clung to leaves, and the air felt cool and fresh. It was the quiet time of day, when the world stretched awake slowly.
The mother monkey sat near a shallow stream, holding her baby close. The little one had slept deeply through the night, his fur messy, his face marked with dried milk and tiny bits of leaf. He blinked sleepily, yawning wide, unaware that his morning bath was about to begin.
The mother checked the water first.
She dipped her fingers in, testing the temperature carefully. Not too cold. Not too fast. Just right. She always did this. Cleaning a baby was not something to rush.
She lowered the baby gently toward the water, supporting his back and head. The baby squeaked in surprise as his feet touched the stream, then protested loudly, his mouth opening wide in complaint.
Cold!
The mother made soft, calming sounds and pulled him close again, letting him feel her warmth. She waited until his cries softened into curious little noises. Then she tried again, slowly this time.
The baby’s toes touched the water once more. He kicked a little, splashing drops into the air. The sound startled him, then made him pause. He stared at the ripples, fascinated. His anger melted into confusion.
The mother smiled softly.
She scooped a small amount of water with her hand and gently poured it over the baby’s legs. She rubbed his fur carefully, loosening dirt and dust from yesterday’s play. The baby squirmed but didn’t cry. He watched the water drip down his skin, eyes wide and alert.
Next came his arms.
The mother lifted one tiny arm at a time, cleaning between fingers, brushing away dried food. The baby tried to grab the water, closing his fist again and again, missing it every time. Each failure made him squeak in frustration, then try harder.
His face was last.
The mother was extra careful. She wiped around his eyes, his cheeks, his big mouth. She removed everything gently, never letting water cover his nose or eyes. The baby frowned, then opened his mouth wide as if to argue—but no sound came out. He was too busy watching.
When a drop of water landed on his nose, he sneezed.
The mother froze for a moment, then relaxed when he squeaked again, healthy and loud. She cleaned his head, smoothing down his fur, checking his ears and neck.
By now, the baby had stopped resisting.
He leaned into her hands, his body warm and relaxed. His movements slowed. His eyes half-closed. The bath, once shocking, had become soothing.
After cleaning, the mother lifted him from the stream and held him tightly against her chest. Water dripped from his fur as she sat in the sunlight. She rubbed him briskly, drying him with her hands and body warmth.
The baby shivered once, then sighed.
He rested his head against her chest, clean, tired, and calm. One small hand clutched her fur, refusing to let go. His breathing slowed, steady and peaceful.
The forest sounds returned—birds, leaves, distant movement. Morning was fully awake now.
The mother kissed the top of his head and held him a little longer, proud of her work. Clean fur, bright eyes, and a calm baby meant the day could begin safely.
The baby yawned again, mouth opening wide, then closed his eyes.
Morning bathing was finished.
And wrapped in warmth and care, the baby drifted quietly between sleep and wakefulness, ready for a new day. 🐒💛
