To my
Kutty Poochi,
Baby Jun, Junnu Kutty, Junnaboy
J
Hope you feel happier
than what you look… reading this some day!!!
For being persistent
enough in calling me by not my name…….
Love,
Siyaaaa
Waking
up to a rather insistent “brrrr”; evoking “wee-wily-winkie” to down a bottle of
milk; staring into nothingness and calling out for a car; watching toys being
hurled around and responding to a call-
for -action diaper situation were some of the unplanned getaways of my trip. I
entered in and we hugged each other as if taking off from where we left.
Subsequently
it was about getting updated. I figured I had missed pretty significant stuff-
New cars had been added to his repository of toys, he had a new shoe with a car
drawn on it, (managing to convince me that it made a “brrrrr”), his books had
doubled in his little box and interesting titles such as “Things that move”/ “Goldilocks
and three bears” had been added to the collection. The books played a dual role. Not only were
they used for reading, but also served to rest his tired feet, while he halted
during many of his trample-around-the-house trips.
Barely
15 months, but he was proficient enough to coerce me into reading out to him
his favourite chapter in his favourite book. And I couldn’t escape JUST
reading. My tone had to necessarily be peppered with relevant and adequate
modulations and inflections. For instance- the picture of the school bus-
required me to accentuate it as schooooooool bus and I COULD be rewarded with a
cheerful giggle if I also augmented it with a “and it goes Pom Pom…” The flip
side of not doing so is not too severe though- apart from visible anger
demonstrated via grinding of his 4 teeth, an animated movement of his hands ,
all set to violently land on my face, head, stomach-well pretty much anywhere! My
skin was soon to be punctuated with traces of red marks attributed to his
nails. Kisses needed to be persistently demanded with love & again if he “chose”
to be gracious enough , occasionally I was the recipient of one sloppy whoosh
of his tongue. Sheer excitement followed everytime I got hold of the car keys.
It would range from a little jig around the spot, to dragging his “weighed-down-by-diapers”
tiny bottom to get his shoes. I would unquestioningly have to then assist him
to slide his feet into them (mind you! YOU do get chided/grunted at if HIS leg
doesn’t go in seamlessly!) . The outcome is worth a watch though. A scurry to
the lift and an unparalled joyous wait
for the lift to negotiate its way through 17 floors. Getting the car out of the
garage was a tough battle- with his suspicious
eyes doubting that I might just leave him behind.
Time
at home was no less colorful. The house often drew the semblance of one that
was rattled- vessels strewn around; food in food out was the order of the day-
could be poop or could be his fingers artistically at work inside his mouth drawing out the not-so
relishable pieces. Piano lessons (read inflicting damage on the keys) was part
of his agenda IF it was part of mine. He had to totter to where I sat ,
straining his tiny hands towards me to lift him and place him on my lap.
And
then it’s time for night to descend and
for wee-wili-winkie to be reminded of his obligations…only soon to be
forgotten….only to switch of the lights and prop a bottle of milk in baby’s mouth….only
to caress his feather like hair and plant many a soft kiss….only to sing …..
Rain Rain go away
Come again another
day
Rain Rain go to Spain
Never show your face again J
Well- not all things in life need make sense J
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