Wouldn't You Like to Know What's Goin' on in My Mind?

Sometimes I wish I could read Ryan’s mind and figure out what on earth he’s thinking. Last night at dinner, he kept looking back and forth from me, to Herb, to me, to Herb, and then giggling. What exactly did he find so funny? And then after supper, he was crawling around in the living room, and he would go a few feet one way, then stop and sit up and giggle, then turn around and crawl back and stop and sit up and giggle, and then turn around and do it all over again, back and forth and back and forth. He obviously found it amusing, but I’d love to know why.

There are times when he’s studying some object and I know exactly what his thought process is. For example, when he plays with the vacuum cleaner, he pushes it on its side and looks at the wheels for a moment, then reaches out and turns them. He’s obviously figuring out how they move and which way they move. And then he tugs at various parts of it, obviously figuring out what’s attached and what’s not. He’s analyzing how the machine is made and how it works. Sometimes he’ll push different objects (like a ball and a block) down a ramp and anything that doesn’t slide, he picks up and turns over and over in his hand. He understands that some things slide and some things don’t, and he’s trying to figure out how they’re different and what makes that particular object not slide. Those brain processes are obvious and understandable. But the things that make him laugh are often incomprehensible to me.

Laughter is such an unpredictable thing anyway, but with a baby, it’s even less predictable. I remember reading somewhere about why humans find something funny, and it has to do with incongruity and unexpectedness. But to a baby who is just figuring out the world, almost everything seems incongruous or unexpected, and therefore funny! So I guess that’s the simplest explanation of most of Ryan’s laughter. He crawls from one side of the room to the other and suddenly he sees things from a different perspective – unexpected and therefore funny! He looks at the expression on Daddy’s face and it’s not quite the same as the one on Mommy’s face – unexpected and therefore funny! He makes noises with his mouth and when he unthinkingly changes its shape, the sound changes – unexpected and therefore funny!

I’m glad that he finds entertainment and amusement in so many things that I find commonplace. I might even be a little jealous at how much pleasure he gets out of life for no particular reason that I can see. But instead, I think I’ll just try to share in his wonder and amazement at the unexpectedness – and also the humor – of the world around me.

Laughter, the Best Medicine

Ryan has reached the stage where it takes almost nothing to make him laugh. In fact, he often looks at some random object in the room (a lamp, a bookcase, the stove) and then spontaneously breaks into giggles. Sometimes he’ll giggle for a moment, stop and look at whatever it is for a few more seconds, and then break into gales of laughter again. If he’s looking at my feet and I wiggle my toes, he guffaws. If he’s looking at my face and I smile or say “Boo!” he laughs uproariously. If he’s lying on the floor and kicks his feet loudly against the floor, he snickers. If I toss a rag over his face, he pulls it off and chuckles. And if he’s on his back and I grab his feet and pull them over his head, he cracks up like there’s never been anything quite as funny in all of history. And any kind of motion sends him into giggle fits, whether it’s Daddy tossing him up in the air like a rag doll, Mommy rolling him back and forth in her arms, or swinging on a swing.

He’s pretty much always been a laugher. He learned to laugh early, and once he figured it out it was a trick he pulled out all the time. He loves being tickled and teased and poked. He loves hearing (and making) goofy noises. He laughs at his toys, his shadow, his reflection, and the ceiling. It really doesn’t take much to tickle his funny bone.

And his laughter makes everyone who hears it happy. Who can listen to a laughing baby without joining in on the laughter – particularly if what’s making the baby laugh is something as random as a chandelier or a spot on the carpet? As I’m writing this, he’s lying on the floor behind me, playing with a fluffy blanket and quietly chuckling to himself. His laughter – even his very happiness – is infectious. I can’t help but feel in a better mood listening to him laugh. His joy makes me forget all my woes. It makes me want to join in and find something amusing in all the boring, ordinary things in my world.

So whenever I’m in a bad mood, all I need to do to cheer myself up is wiggle my toes or stick out my tongue or blow a raspberry, and Ryan and I will both start laughing and forget all our worries. Because laughter really is the best medicine.

Morning People

I’m not much of a morning person. I never have been. Well, possibly when I was six and there were cartoons on Saturday morning at 5am, but I’d consider that the exception that proves the rule. The reality is that I take some time to move from fully asleep to fully awake and vice versa. And when I do get up, there are several minutes of grogginess to wade through before I’m either coherent or happy.

Ryan, however, is definitely a morning person. He may wake up from naps a bit cranky or disoriented, but he very rarely wakes up in the morning without a smile on his face. Herb and I are getting very used to listening to his happy morning babbling for half an hour or so before he starts making “I’m bored, come get me” noises. If I tiptoe in to peek at him then, he’s happily looking around his crib, playing with his toys and stuffed animals, or simply enjoying listening to his own cooing and laughing. Even after he gets tired of that and fusses for someone to come get him, he greets us with a big grin. He’s just plain cheerful in the morning.

He’s always been pretty laid-back and un-fussy, but at this stage it’s really becoming personality as much as temperament. I hope that he keeps his sunny outlook as he gets older, particular his happy morning attitude. A cheerful, positive outlook on life makes life’s difficulties much easier to take. A natural attitude of looking for the silver lining will get him far in life, and keep him from being easily discouraged. Besides, it makes it much easier for me to be cheerful in the morning when I wake up to that adorable grin!

Tickled Pink

The other day, Herb had finished changing Ryan and was playing with him on the changing table. He was tickling his belly and his thighs and Ryan was chortling and chuckling to his heart’s delight. I was laughing with them both, and Herb commented that I don’t tickle Ryan when I play with him.

While this is not entirely true, it certainly is true that I tickle him MUCH less often and much less heartily than Daddy does. And I suspect I know why: because I don’t like being tickled. I don’t know if I had a horrific, scarring childhood tickling tragedy that I’ve blocked out of my memory, or if it’s just something that I’m not genetically programmed for, but I just don’t enjoy being tickled beyond that first split-second. And the fact that I’m incredibly ticklish just about everywhere makes it that much less fun. I’ve been known to squirm and squeal when someone who’s not even intending to tickle me tickles me by accident. Herb has learned to be very careful when he reaches over to snuggle me – he discovered the hard way on more than one occasion that a soft, unexpected touch can result in a much harder, unexpected (and involuntary, I swear) smack. It’s a completely reflexive physical reaction for me, like when the doctor hits under your kneecap with that little hammer. I can’t control the squirm-and-squeal any more than I can control swinging my leg due to that hammer.

Ryan, fortunately, does not suffer from this malady in the slightest. He loves being tickled, to no end. In fact, he gets so excited that he giggles in anticipation. When Herb or I hold up a hand in “tickling position”, then shoot it down to tickle Ryan’s belly (while repeating the requisite “Tiiiiickletickletickletickticktickticktickle!” mantra), he laughs uproariously. And if we pause before we actually reach his belly, he’s already closed his eyes and chortled in anticipation. Sometimes after a split-second he pauses mid-laugh and opens his eyes, as if to say, “Wait, what happened to the tickle?” But more often than not, even the anticipation is enough to give him a thrill.

One of his favorite games is the old “broken egg drop”. Remember that one from elementary school? You make someone close his eyes, clap your hands a few inches above his head, and then trickle your fingers down over his face so it feels like you broke an egg over his head and now it’s dripping down his face. Ryan loves that game! You don’t even need to clap, just run your hands lightly over his head, face and shoulders, and he rolls his eyes back in delight and chortles away. The chortle is fabulous but it’s the ecstatic eye roll that really cracks me up. It’s like the laughter isn’t enough to express how unbelievably delightful the game is. He’s practically going unconscious it’s so amazing!

That’s my funny little ticklebug.