So the baby wakes up from his nap. He's still a little unsteady and teary-eyed. He lifts his hands and says, "Yook at my hands!"
I assume he's upset from having smacked them in a fall on the sidewalk -- though I don't remember a recent fall. "What's wrong with your hands?" I ask.
In the saddest, most urgent voice of all time, he says, "They don't have chocolate in them!"