In the early morning light of the forest, Libby the monkey woke to the familiar sounds of rustling leaves, distant bird calls, and the soft breathing of her baby, Brady, curled against her chest. Each day in their troop followed a gentle rhythm—searching for food, grooming one another, resting in the shade—but that morning, Libby felt heavier than usual. Her arms ached from carrying Brady everywhere, her eyes burned with tiredness, and even her tail drooped as she climbed down from the sleeping tree. Motherhood was joyful, but it was also exhausting, especially with a curious baby who never wanted to stop moving.
As the troop gathered near the fig trees, Libby noticed Pretty sitting nearby. Pretty was older, calm, and known for her patience. She had helped care for many babies in the troop before, and the younger monkeys trusted her. Libby hesitated, shifting Brady from one arm to the other. The baby squeaked softly, reaching for a leaf and then grabbing at Libby’s fur. Libby loved him fiercely, but her body was telling her she needed rest. Still, the thought of leaving Brady, even for a short time, made her heart race.
Pretty looked up and met Libby’s eyes, as if she understood the struggle without a sound. She moved closer and gently touched Brady’s back, offering a reassuring presence. Libby paused, then slowly allowed Pretty to take the baby. Brady protested at first, making a small chirping sound, but Pretty held him securely and began to groom him, smoothing his fur in a way that quickly calmed him. Libby stepped back, feeling relief wash over her muscles, followed immediately by worry that tightened her chest. She stayed close, watching every movement, every sound.
Libby climbed onto a low branch and finally let herself sit still. For the first time in days, her arms were free, and the quiet felt strange. She closed her eyes for a moment but opened them again almost immediately, checking on Brady. Pretty rocked gently as she moved, showing him leaves and letting him grip her fingers. Other monkeys passed by, busy with their own tasks, but Libby noticed everything. Even as rest slowly crept into her body, her attention never fully left her baby.
Time passed in small, ordinary moments. The sun climbed higher, warming the forest floor. Libby dozed lightly, waking at every unfamiliar sound. Each time she looked, Brady was safe, clinging to Pretty or exploring just within her reach. Seeing this eased Libby’s worry little by little. She realized that caring for a baby did not always have to be done alone. The troop was a shared family, and trust was part of survival.
Eventually, Libby felt her strength returning. She stretched, shook out her fur, and climbed down from the branch. Pretty noticed right away and brought Brady closer. As soon as Libby reached out, Brady recognized her and reached back eagerly, his tiny hands wrapping around her fur. Libby pulled him close, breathing in his familiar scent. The worry she had been holding all morning finally loosened its grip.
Pretty stepped back, giving Libby space, and Libby gave her a grateful look. No sounds were needed; the message was clear. With Brady safely against her chest again, Libby rejoined the troop. She moved more easily now, her steps lighter, her mind calmer. The day continued as usual—searching for food, grooming, resting—but Libby carried with her a quiet understanding. Being a mother meant protecting and nurturing, but it also meant knowing when to accept help.
As the sun began to lower and the troop prepared to settle for the evening, Libby curled up in the trees with Brady sleeping peacefully against her. The forest hummed softly around them. Libby felt tired again, but it was a gentler tiredness, balanced by comfort and trust. Tomorrow would bring another busy day, but for now, she rested, knowing that she and her baby were supported by the shared life of the troop.
