Everett has been “talking” and laughing for months now. But over the last few weeks, he has really started to become quite the chatterer and feels it is necessary to provide commentary to his daily routine for all to hear. He doesn’t discriminate about who can hear his stories, because not only will he talk to me or Emily, but he also shares with Summit, his stuffed toys, the mirror, the window, the TV, the carpet, a fly, and the wall. It is really cute to watch him break into a storm of jabbering and do several minutes of blathering and ranting.
He has started a new thing that is far more adorable and endearing than his constant talking. And his talking is incredibly endearing and adorable, but it doesn’t fill my stomach with butterflies or cause me to walk on clouds like this other thing. Everett has a new laugh. He has been laughing for months and months. He now has a laugh that causes his entire face to light up and creates a smile that rivals the size of Texas. It is the type of smile that says, “If I was any happier then I’d explode into an enormous cloud of teddy bears and jelly beans.” Then he unleashes the most delightful sounding laugh that seems like it won’t ever stop—I kind of hope that it would go on for eternity. His laugh is so powerful that he is border line hyperventilating and his entire chubby body starts to shake. It is one of the most precious and wonderful things in the entire universe, and I’d willingly swear off chicken wings and beer forever if you could guarantee me that he’d do it forever and ever.
Everett’s new laugh gives me the greatest natural high I could imagine. I have to admit that I am now addicted to it. I am always trying to find ways to get him to burst into this delightful symphony of laughter. During the moments that I get Everett to explode into laughter, I feel like I’m instantly connected to him and we’re creating this unbreakable bond. I’m a writer, but I can’t properly explain really how magnificent the feeling is. It is just one of the experiences that I hope every single parent can have with their baby.
Everett’s laugh makes me feel like I can start touring comedy clubs. He thinks I’m the funniest guy in the world. The problem is that there isn’t one guaranteed routine that will make him laugh every time. It is almost dependent on how he is feeling at that moment. One day I’ll put a blanket over my head and pull down while saying, “Boo!”, and he’ll respond like I hit comedy gold. The next day I’ll try it again, and he’ll sort of give me a polite smile, “Nice try, dad. Now, let me gnaw on your thumb, please.”
The other day, I told Everett that he was so cute that I could eat him all up. This somehow led me to chanting, “Human human pudding” in a deep voice, and then pretending to eat his cheeks and belly. He unleashed the most powerful and magnificent laughter that ensured that, at that moment, Disneyworld was only the second happiest place on Earth. I never got him to laugh that long or powerfully before, and sadly, I haven’t been able to do it since. Partly because I have a habit of forgetting exactly what I did to get those laughs, but also, Everett seems to demand a constant stream of new material.
My son’s laughter is the most wonderful thing in the entire world. When I make him laugh, I definitely become the happiest man alive.