Jonah and I have a
ton of time during the day to play and explore and generally get on each
other’s nerves.
My main method of
getting him to play with me is this: I
lie on the floor and wait for him to pounce.
In Jonah’s world,
anything on the floor is fair game.
Toys, shoes, remote controls, and dog droppings all come into his realm
and remain there, indefinitely, until he becomes interested in something else
or when he’s sleepy. It is his right and
his duty to catalog and inspect such objects.
Thus, when I lie on the floor, it his invitation to investigate this
strange new item.
As I await his
appearance on my chest, my mind sometimes wandered, which was incredibly
dangerous. Jonah increased his girth to
the point where he could actually cause severe and permanent damage to any
sensitive part of my body, including, but not limited to, my eyes, gums,
cuticles, and skin. (You may have
another sensitive body part that you can imagine him injuring. Are you imagining? Yep.
He’s injured that, too). Thus,
any activity that distracted from a hyper-vigilant awareness of his exact
location introduced a danger to mi propio
carne, if you know what I mean.
At the time of his
arrival onto my chest, he had usually been playing around for a good half hour,
making use of the toys scattered about the living room. Thus, he was in a nirvana of investigation, a
“crawler’s high” not unlike the excited energy found in most crack houses and
all nursery school playrooms.
Imagine his round
head, rising from the side of my torso—like the Phoenix from the ashes—smiling,
drooling, and babbling. He would begin
his investigation by lightly slapping my chest, then harder, then harder
again. I never thought I’d get a “pink
belly” after leaving Middle School, but Jonah regularly slapped me hard enough
to rival those Middle School bullies. As
he increased the intensity of his slaps, he closed his fists, and continued
beating on my belly. Toward the end of
his recital, it sounded like a Kettle Drum was being played in our living room.
As I caught my
breath and wiped the tears from my eyes, he’d climb on top of my belly and sit
down. Jonah recognized the face, so he
felt like it was his right to investigate.
About this time, as he reached out to slap me upside the coconut, I
would divert his attention by sticking out my tongue. (I have learned that Jonah’s first effort at
investigation is a good, firm slap. I’m
glad he hasn’t started investigating pudding).
The tongue, for
Jonah, was an amazing thing. When I
revealed that I have a tongue, Jonah’s face had an indescribable look of
complete wonder. To verbalize the look,
it’s like he was saying, “What in the world is going on with this guy’s
face? Is anyone else catching this? That is sticking out of the middle of his
head. I think I’ll slap him.”
Instead of slapping
me, though, he would try to grab my tongue.
As he reached for it, I would put it back in my mouth. He would retreat. I would stick out my tongue again. He would reach for it again, and I would put
it back in my mouth. He would
retreat. This was repeated a couple more
times before Jonah decided to investigate.
His investigations went
something like this: He would take his
index finger—with its razor-sharp fingernail—and curl my bottom lip down,
cutting a quarter-inch gash into my gums.
He would laugh and let go. He went
back to my mouth, looking for that tongue, but he would get to the teeth the
next time and pry open my mouth. Hey,
maybe Jonah should work for the rescue squad as a “jaws of life.” Anyway, he would get to my tongue and try to
rip it out of my head.
After he was done
with my tongue, he noticed that I have a nose.
Here’s where Jonah brought the pain.
He was remarkably quick, especially since he just recently discovered
that he could control the use of his arms and hands. As I recover from bleeding gums and a bruised
uvula, Jonah would savagely place his entire fist in my right nostril, giggling
uncontrollably. He loved it. His laughing increased, reaching a crescendo
when he was “elbow deep.”
At this point, I would
grab his little arm because I fear that he might leave permanent
scratches. Before I could get his arm
out of my nose, he would slap my brain and then laugh.
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