The hungry babies rushed forward the moment food appeared. Their eyes widened, their mouths opened, and their tiny hands reached out all at once. It was as if they were afraid the food might disappear if they didn’t eat quickly enough.
They had waited a long time.
Small stomachs grow empty fast, and empty stomachs make babies impatient. The youngest squeaked loudly, pushing past his siblings, grabbing a soft piece of fruit with both hands. He didn’t even sit down. He started chewing immediately, mouth full, cheeks puffed out, eyes still watching the food pile like a guard.
Another baby tried to eat two pieces at once. One hand held a banana, the other stuffed berries into his mouth. He chewed too fast, swallowed too quickly, then paused to cough before going right back to eating. Hunger made him forget everything else—manners, patience, even breathing properly.
The older babies weren’t much better. They grabbed, pulled, and squeaked angrily if someone came too close. One baby growled while eating, making a funny sound between bites, warning everyone to stay away. Another tried to hide food under his arm while chewing with his mouth wide open.
Food fell to the ground.
No one noticed.
They were too busy.
The smallest baby ate so fast that juice dripped down his chin. He didn’t stop to lick it away. He just kept chewing, swallowing, chewing again. His little body leaned forward, tense and serious, like eating was the most important job in the world.
An adult monkey watched nearby, shaking her head softly. She knew this behavior well. Hungry babies always acted like this. When food finally came, fear mixed with hunger. Fear of being too slow. Fear of not getting enough. Fear that the food would be gone before their turn.
One baby suddenly froze, mouth full, eyes wide. He had eaten too fast. He swallowed hard, then cried angrily, frustrated with his own body. The adult quickly moved closer, gently touching his back, helping him calm down.
Slowly, the chaos began to soften.
Bellies started to fill. Chewing slowed. Grabbing stopped. One by one, the babies sat down instead of standing. Their movements became heavier, lazier. The youngest leaned against a sibling while chewing, eyes half-closed now.
A baby who had growled earlier suddenly yawned mid-bite. Another dropped his food, stared at it for a moment, then decided it wasn’t urgent anymore. Hunger had been loud and wild, but now it was quiet.
Soon, only soft chewing sounds remained.
Sticky mouths closed. Tired hands loosened their grip. One baby licked his fingers carefully, proud and satisfied. Another curled up next to the food pile, belly round, eyes closing.
The adult moved closer and checked them gently, touching heads, cleaning faces, making sure no one had eaten too much too fast. The babies barely reacted. Full stomachs made them sleepy and calm.
Hunger had turned them wild.
Food had turned them peaceful.
And as they rested together, crumbs around their mouths and fruit stains on their fur, they looked less like desperate little creatures and more like what they truly were—babies learning, one meal at a time, that food will come, and they don’t always have to rush. 🐒💛
