After delivering a couple of brief but intense tickles, I accidentally taught my one-year-old son The Fake-Out. Not wanting to overdo it — to turn a fun touch not fun anymore — I feinted a lunge, his eyes went round and he screamed with laughter.
This is a THING.
She was going to get me, but now she’s NOT.
His laughter broke into a ringing cascade, sharp and clear, that second tier of hilarity that is hard to achieve, impossible to fake, laced with self-awareness, a deep presence and wondrous abandon.
The Fake-Out.
The Fake-Out.
Oh the anticipation! The delicious deception.
I faked him out a half dozen times, then responded to one of his all-purpose squawks like he was faking me out, anime-face AHHHHHH!hahahaha. AHHHHHH!hahahaha. He lost it all over again.
I love playing with him. I love teaching him and being taught.
(The photo is unrelated but I love this one.)
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