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.