My son loves to make me laugh. He’s 14 months and he has the makings of a real comedian. It’s mostly slapstick, of course.
Yesterday, my husband put an extra-large straw hat on him and called me from the other room to see. I laughed, then went back to the kitchen to wash dishes. A bit later, I turned around, and there was Charlie in the doorway with the same hat and a near-deadpan expression except for the gleam in his eye. So, I laughed again and turned around to continue with my chore. Not another minute later, I turn around again and he had toddled even closer, just waiting for me to laugh again. He gave me a big grin only after I laughed for him.
It also reminds me of a time when he was just learning to walk at 11 months or so. He had fallen onto his bottom on the rug in our living room. I laughed pretty heartily when he looked at me, trying to ensure that he wouldn’t cry when I knew he wasn’t hurt. He got up and fell down over and over again, probably six more times. My laugh became more and more genuine with each one because he took so much pleasure in making me smile.
And now there is also the new trick Avery taught him: slapping himself on the head. He just knows this is hilarious. I knew there was a reason we call him Chuckles …