If the baby grin is evolution's insurance policy against us putting the baby outside the cave for the bears to pick up, surely the baby giggle is a narcotic produced by evolution to ensure that you will do your best to keep the tot as happy as humanly possible. Anything, ANYTHING, to see that giggle again. Diaper on your head? No problem. Dirty diaper on your head? Maybe not, but you'd actually ponder it for a second if you thought it might get you hooked up with the "baby dope" again. I've been pulling out the classics every once in a while, you know, blowing on the tummy, eating his hand, hoping to ignite the baby giggle mechanism, and until yesterday my overt and shameless attempts have failed me. But yesterday I hit paydirt--and the baby giggle is far more intoxicating than I could have ever dreamed. Whatever star alignment was involved was perfect, and the combo tummy-blow with mirror-over-the diaper-table was enough to tip us into the giggle zone. But now I'm like the rat with the cocaine, and even when the tot clearly doesn't have another giggle in him, I desperately blow on his tummy anyway, hoping for another fix, anything, ANYTHING--a coo with a grin that could break into a slight giggle? I'll take that! Please, please, I'm BEGGING YOU! JUST GIVE ME ONE MORE GIGGLE! My name is Readymade, and I have a problem.