Appa missing Pio

Enroute  Bangkok via Bahrain, It probably has been just 7 hours or less since I saw you last, but I already miss you and your mother so crazily I have half the mind to turn back earlier. I don’t know how I am going to survive without you in my arms. Maybe I miss you more so because all the 3 times I flew last, you WERE in my arms.

Last time we all flew together, I knew that keeping you from being cranky in the sky as well as on Earth is really a feat only attributed to Daddy’s like me. The idea is to keep you occupied. Sometimes your mother claims I am tricking you into not crying, but well I get the job done right? It also involves carrying some of your favorites, one of which was a stuffed Chicken toy which you plucked off from the Baby Gym Canute had bought for you when you were born. You would religiously mutilate it with your arms, legs and mouth as if he was the sole reason for all the troubles in the world. Last flight, the poor guy escaped your wrath to somewhere between the seats where we couldn’t retrieve it for you anymore.

Well then there are always the in-flight magazines which you would try to devour page by page. Ignoring the dirty looks of the pretty air hostesses, we have try to stand by your choice of laminated paper magazines over healthy Heinz Toddler Biscuits. Like I said, keeping you from being cranky on a plane takes the priority, for the benefit of the larger crowd of passengers in the AirCraft. Your wails defy doors. – even to the cockpit.

I can never master the art of changing soiled diapers on a wriggly Pio. On ground, you wait for the opportune moment when I open the soiled ones to pee on me. Avoiding and deflecting urinary projectiles is one of the expertises I am getting infamous in, as per your mother.  Changing soiled diapers is as impossible as getting me to change my socks daily, as per your mother again. By default, you fight to the tooth and nail to the end, till I wipe the perspiration off my forehead with making the second diaper strap stick.

You are also, a man of variety. Saturday morning you woke me up with some serious head butting which made my lower lip bleed a little. Sheryl of course attributed this new motion to some reverse phenomenon of the rocking mechanism I employ to put you to sleep. Psst.. Your mother anyway takes it upon herself to explain the reasons for everything from Lunar Eclipses to tummy rumbles.

You spontaneously mouth everything in your arms reach, and when I carry you, my poor nose is often the victim of your wet toothless bites. You scratch, you pinch and thereby you leave tell tale marks on my face that give enough wince for the next day’s aftershave. However, people do agree I have an uncanny ability to put you to sleep at any time of the day, and I must admit it is so. So much so that I think now you know by now that Daddy shoulder time is dozing time.

It’s a perfect white outside, like the loading program in Matrix.  I am somewhere above the Bay of Bengal. And I think to myself.. How come I am so madly in love with you?

Who is this little person that is you, who appeared out of nowhere? Did’nt I almost feel like a demi-god when I knew we co-created you? I remember being so profoundly amazed by the handiwork of the Master as you came out of your mother’s loins. Tiny, fragile and so delicate I would not even get myself to touch you. But complete, full and so perfect, I then became the glassy eyed Father who could not take his eyes off you even for a moment.

I am glued to your mother’s facebook albums for the want of pictures of you to look at. Because Pio, did you know that you are the apple of my eye and I love you so much?

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