Pity baby Rex suffers painful abdominal cramps from constipation today, leaving him unusually quiet and withdrawn. Normally cheerful and energetic, the tiny monkey spends the morning curled into his mother’s arms, his little face tense as he tries to endure the discomfort. Every few minutes his belly tightens, and he strains to push, but nothing comes. The gentle forest around him feels strangely still, as if sensing his struggle.
Rex’s mother watches him anxiously, grooming his fur in soft, soothing strokes. She knows something is wrong—his playful chirps have turned into faint whimpers, and his usual curiosity has been replaced by exhaustion. Each time he makes a small effort to relieve himself, his body stiffens, and he winces, trying so hard yet making no sound. The quietness is heartbreaking; it shows how much pain he is holding inside.
Nearby, a few older monkeys glance over with concern. They approach slowly, respecting the mother’s space while offering comfort through soft vocalizations. Even they seem to understand the seriousness of his discomfort. Rex eventually tries to shift positions, lying on his side and then on his belly, as if hoping the new posture will ease the pressure inside him.
As time passes, his mother carefully massages his stomach with gentle movements, a natural instinct born from generations of caregiving. Her patience, warmth, and constant presence slowly help him relax. After several attempts—each one small, determined, and quiet—there is finally a bit of relief. It is not much, but enough to ease some of the sharp cramps twisting his tiny abdomen.
Rex snuggles closer to her chest afterward, exhausted but calmer. Though the struggle is not fully over, the comforting bond between mother and baby makes the painful day a little easier. With rest, warmth, and care, baby Rex will soon feel like himself again.
