On the way back from the beach (and when I say "beach," really I mean "small agricultural community near but not on the coast where the cheese is plentiful and restaurants are not," but that's another story) I was sitting in the back seat with the bun to entertain him for a while. I mean, it must suck to be a baby in a rear-facing car seat. Nothing to look at but car upholstery, and once you've seen it forty times, you pretty much know what to expect, right? So anyhoo, I was blowing raspberries because, well, lowbrow humor never ceases to amuse me even at my advanced age, and I figured I would share my comedic stylings since the trip was long and the upholstery remained unchanged. Blowing raspberries is guaranteed a laugh, you know? And laugh he did! And laugh and laugh!
And then, you know, he blew one. And I laughed and laughed! And my husband laughed and laughed! And then he blew another! And another! And another!
It goes without saying that he has now stolen some of my best material. And he continues to hone his comedic timing. Why, just this morning I had hoisted him up in the air on my knees to bounce him when he looked at me with a gleam in his eye. I could see the gears click over in his brain as he thought, "Huh. Yesterday these tongue antics went over pretty well; let's see if we can get the milk bar to laugh again." And laugh I did, because not only was I sprayed from head to toe with bun-spittle, but a huge glob of drool was now dangling over my head.
It's always an adventure.