Laughter

One of the most unexpected things about the baby is how much she makes us laugh. Sure, she is so perfectly cute it should be illegal, but when I think about her I mainly want to laugh. Before a feed when she roots so earnestly over her shoulder I worry her neck will sprain, usually to the wrong side. Over here! Other side, other side! When her hands clasp tightly together over her chest, eyes closed as she sucks—Lord, take not this breast from me (sorry to a particular reader; I can’t avoid the b-word). And then when she’s done feeding, one hand pushing me away while frowning with bottom lip stuck out as if to say, get that NASTY thing away from me, you NASTY woman. And her drugged-out post-feed highs, head lolling back with eyes closed and mouth slightly agape, arms hanging limply at her sides. I can pretty much do whatever I want with her then. Like pick out her nose boogers and the bits of milk collected in her neck folds.

All that entertainment, and only during feeds, though I have to say that accounts for the majority of her waking existence. Also pretty hilarious is watching her poop, a task which any parent of a newborn will tell you is a big deal. Good poops, happy baby; no poop, gassy and fussy baby. She approaches this venture with the appropriate degree of solemn concentration: brows furrowed, lips pursed, chin down, fists clenched, arms and legs straight. And hold. As her face gets redder and redder. Cracks me up to no end.

She can even be funny when she cries, her whole face frowning as the most pitiful how-could-you-do-this-to-me sound emerges. Or when she wails and holds her breath so long her face looks like a crumpled red tomato and I think the world must be ending. Far be it from her to do anything half-heartedly.

The fact that I am making up conversations in my head with a preverbal infant probably means I don’t get out enough and/or will one day wake up having forgotten the layers of the cornea, but oh well. It’s worth it. And a lot more fun.