Before she was born, I jokingly referred to Clara as Mini-me, or Mini-Mario. She is beginning to make it clear that she is neither of these people. I am relieved.
To make myself clearer, I need to back up a few weeks (possibly months). Little Girl has been laughing for awhile now. Not often, but every once in awhile something really tickles her funny bone. What I love is that she doesn't have a baby giggle. Nope. She has a rather reluctant chuckle, a low-pitched chuckle, often followed by a squeak. It's wonderful. Heh, heh. [squeak]
At first, she'd just laugh whenever Mario or I found something really funny. She'd see us laughing and think, "hmm . . . Mommy's laughing. Heh, heh . . . Yeah, that's funny!" Now she has developed her own sense of humor. And this is where her personality begins to split from my own. I think we had spent so much time where she literally was an extension of me that it took me by surprise that she will laugh at things that I just don't understand. She really IS her own person.
For instance, now when she's in the bathtub, she thinks that it's pretty funny when I wash her cheeks and neck with the washcloth. Why is this funny? And apparently it's a hoot when I kiss her belly (I'm thinking she might be ticklish). Fortunately for both of us, she sometimes thinks it's pretty funny when I squeeze her. (Mario is so happy that I can now pass off some of my squeezing urges on her now--and that she enjoys them, too. His ribs deserve a break.)
All that I know, is that we have embarked on a dialogue (or misunderstanding) that will last many, many years. She'll think something is hilarious, and I'll be on the sidelines wondering what on earth was so very funny. This reminds me of countless lunch periods with my preschoolers last year. Hah, hah--yeah, that's funny. Now eat.
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