Spexious

Observations and arguments.

Making the boy laugh

One of the problems of balancing a creative life with fatherhood is the fact that none of my current creative endeavors offers even a fraction of the emotional payoff that is making The Boy laugh.

Acknowledging that I am evolutionarily predisposed to love my own child above any other, I’ll also posit that The Boy’s laugh is atypically infectious. Other toddlers I have known have had laughs I would describe as sneaky, cute, funny, precious, even adorable. But The Boy’s wide grin practically goads his adult companion(s) to laugh along with him.

Plus he often expresses his laughter in a series of halting “g” sounds evocative of Sheriff Roscoe P. Coltrane from The Dukes of Hazzard, which how awesome is that.

But, which also means that creative energy that might previously have been channeled into writing or moviemaking or the fiddle is now expended each day popping out suddenly from behind chairs, revealing an orange that I had been hiding behind my back, or putting a plastic chair on my head.

Better yet are the times when The Boy makes himself laugh unselfconsciously, without expectations of his audience, e.g. by splashing himself in the face with the water in the bathtub. I find myself spending a surprising amount of time watching The Boy in anticipation of this happening.

Oh, and he’s walking.

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