Airport? Airport?

He is currently totally and utterly OBSESSED with airports. I used to worry about gender roles and stereotyping, but when you are woken by a little forehead pressed against yours inquiring,  “Airport? Airport?” it’s hard to say no to the lil’ guy. And so we go. As we do the short drive, he starts shaking with anticipation.

It is a small airport, but as it’s the country’s capital, it is busy with commuters.  I carry him through the atrium and he says “Hi!” to just about everyone he passes. He has recently become transfixed with the very young and the very old and they receive special attention. I let him toddle down the corridor, and then we hit the big window, where we can watch the planes come and go.

I try to not draw too much attention and just talk to his ear quietly.”Hey, look, there goes a luggage cart Albie!” and “Oh my gosh, here comes a fuel truck!” His face stays turned to the tarmac – my words, a voice-over for the best show around. His hands stick to the window. And then, barely believing his luck,  a plane touches down.  Albie shouts with all his might, ‘Propeller! Propeller! Propeller!’  The volume of him makes me laugh. He is getting louder by the day.

Needless to say, it is not nearly as much fun to leave the airport as it is to arrive.

 

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