Man, I Really Wish I Looked at Myself the Way He Looks at Me

Even I don’t think I’m that nice

Photo by Joseph Anson on Unsplash

Today, he cried again.

And not just babyish, simpering sniffles but full-blown, deep-throated gurgling screams with a torrential stream of tears spurting out of each eye.

I mean, there was almost a little lake at my feet by the end of it — if there even was an end.

But when I looked down, all I saw were flush red cheeks that had seemingly doubled in size — soaking in all those tears, I bet — and tiny hands that almost yanked my pants down.

I sighed, floated a silent wish into the universe to make his emotional resolve as strong as his physical strength, and I picked him up.

With an awkward upper body movement of cheek-kissing and tear-wiping, I cooed sweet nothings into his barely discerning mind, making false promises to always be by his side. Chitti will always, ALWAYS, be here ok?

This time when I looked down, I found pieces of my broken heart amidst its melted other half puddled on the ground below.

Welcome to just another day in my life with my 2.5-year-old nephew.

While driving to my sister’s place this evening, I mind-played the conversation I had with my neighbor right before I…