Little Poki Monkey sat on a tree branch, arms folded tightly across his chest, lower lip poked out in a dramatic pout. His tiny eyes followed his mom as she busily gathered fruit, groomed his siblings, and greeted the other monkeys in their troop. But not once—not once today—had she stopped to hug him.
It wasn’t fair. Poki had tried everything to get her attention. He tugged gently at her tail, made a few soft squeaks, and even tried his most dramatic “fall and roll” on the leafy ground. Still, his mom just gave him a quick glance and went right back to her tasks.
“She doesn’t love me anymore,” Poki muttered, eyes filling with frustrated tears. “She hugs everyone else but me.”
Truth was, Mama Monkey had noticed Poki’s sulking. She smiled to herself, remembering how he used to cling to her belly every moment of the day. But lately, Poki had been exploring more, jumping higher, and even playing with other baby monkeys. She thought he was becoming independent—and maybe didn’t want so many hugs anymore.
But she had guessed wrong.
Poki’s anger grew with every minute. When a soft breeze ruffled his fur and no warm arms wrapped around him, he let out a little growl. “Hmph! I’ll just run away! Then she’ll miss me!”
Just as he stood up to make his dramatic exit, two strong, loving arms scooped him up.
“Where do you think you’re going, my big little boy?” Mama whispered.
Poki melted into her fur, burying his face in her shoulder.
“You didn’t hug me all day…” he mumbled.
“Oh Poki,” she said, rocking him gently. “I thought you were too grown up for hugs all the time.”
“Never,” Poki sniffled.
“Well then,” she smiled, “here’s a hug to last you all day—and a thousand more when you need them.”
Poki’s anger disappeared instantly. Because nothing—nothing—felt better than a mama’s hug.
