Luna sits in her high chair, tiny feet kicking the tray, eyes locked on the spoon in Daddy’s hand. She was happy just a second ago, giggling at the funny faces he made, clapping her sticky hands. But now — Daddy hesitates, the spoon pauses midair, and that’s it. Her little eyebrows draw together, her cheeks puff up, and she lets out a squeal that’s half roar, half wail.
Daddy tries to reason with her, “One second, Luna! Daddy’s blowing it — it’s hot!” But Luna doesn’t care about reasons. She wants food now. She slams her fists on the tray, tiny fists of fury, making her cup wobble dangerously close to tipping. Daddy scrambles to catch it while Luna shrieks like he’s committed the greatest crime: feeding too slow.
One moment he’s the hero, the next he’s the villain. He speeds up, scooping mushy peas faster than he can breathe, but now Luna’s suspicious. She wants the spoon herself, grabs for it with fierce little fingers, smearing green goop on her nose. Daddy laughs, which makes her pause — just long enough for him to sneak another spoonful into her mouth.
Luna chews dramatically, glaring at him with her big stormy eyes. Daddy keeps apologizing in a sing-song voice, promising he’ll be quicker next bite. He tries to explain, “Daddy doesn’t want you to burn your tongue!” but Luna is not interested in excuses. She demands a steady supply, a royal feast with no delays.
Finally, when her belly’s full, her anger melts. She yawns, gives him a sleepy grin, and rests her sticky hand on his arm like nothing ever happened. Daddy sighs in relief, knowing tomorrow it’ll happen all over again — Luna, tiny queen of sudden fury, ruling her kingdom one slow spoon at a time.
