Things that make him laugh
As you can tell,
Jonah loved to laugh when I was in extreme pain. He was not a “one-trick pony” however. There were plenty of other times—aside when I
am in excruciating pain—when Jonah laughed.
Reading a Book: Sunday
and I have tried to read a few books to him before he went to sleep at
night. Most of the time, I got this
privilege and I loved it. I would get
down on the floor and Jonah would sit in front of me, looking at the book.
I usually would choose
one of those board books, with the pages the width of a standard steel
door. Turning those pages makes you feel
like you’ve accomplished something, mainly because one turn of the page equals
one quarter of the book’s length.
Jonah’s reaction to
this, though, was great. I usually had a
choice: I could read three different
books, or I could read the same book three times. Either way, Jonah was excited.
I would read the
title of the book, and then turn the page.
Jonah would look up at me as if he were saying, “Can you believe
this?!?! I have never heard such an
amazing story!”
Then I would read
whatever was on the page. (It’s usually
something like, “And the puppy danced and played with his friends.”) Jonah would look down at the page and back up
at me laughing quietly.
When I would turn
the next page, Jonah would look up at me again, as if were saying, “HEY! There’s more of this. And there’s that puppy again!”
I would read
whatever was on the page, and Jonah’s laughter would increase. By the time I was at the end of the book,
Jonah would be doubled over with laughter, barely able to contain himself—which
is why he wears diapers full time.
My Singing: Now
this one may not come as a shock to you, mainly because people have been
laughing at my singing for decades now, but Jonah got distinct pleasure at
laughing whenever I opened my mouth to sing something. I blame Sunday. She laughs like that, too.
“Getting” Jonah: This
is a classic game, where the “getter” announces in a clear voice, “I’m gonna
get you.” Then, the “gettee” usually
runs/crawls away from the “getter” with a pronounced sense of dreadful
glee.
Jonah didn’t quite
understand this game at first. I would
get at the end of the hall, with plans for hours of chasing and laughing
swirling in my head, when I would announce to Jonah, sitting at the end of the
hall, “I’m gonna get you.”
He would smile and
return to his investigation of the boot he’d found in the hall.
I would crawl up a
few more feet and announce, “I’m gonna get you.”
He would look up
from his boot as if to say, “Yes, I see you Dad. You said that before. Gotta boot here. Catch you later.”
A little less
enthusiastic, I would crawl a few more feet toward him and announce again, “I’m
gonna get you.”
This time, he wouldn’t
even look up from the boot, but he would begin laughing a little, as if to say,
“Pleasant chap, isn’t he?”
By the time I would
get to him, I would be more than displeased at his reaction and a tad
frustrated. Jonah, however, would have his
eyes permanently glued to the boot and he would be laughing hysterically. I would react by attacking his neck with
kisses, sending Jonah into an outward, gut-laugh that most babies can only
dream of.
At this point,
Jonah would choose to crawl away, and the chase would be on. He would take two strides—is it a stride when
you’re crawling?—anyway, it’s two strides and he would look back. I wouldn’t move. (When you’re this much bigger than your
quarry, you don’t need to move in simultaneity.) Jonah would move a few more strides and then
look back again, just in time for me to announce, “I’m gonna get you.”
He would sit up and
wait. He would actually want me to get
him. He figured, “Why am I moving away
from this fellow who is telling me he’s going to get me anyway? I might as well stay here and wait for
him.”
He would wait and I
would resume my kissing attack on his cheeks, neck and throat. It would be an onslaught of sugar and Jonah
could not get enough. He would roll
around on the floor laughing and squealing until my lips chapped or he passed
out.