The Boy, recently, has decided that pain is really, really funny. More specifically, inflicting pain upon Daddy is amazing, hysterically entertaining.
This is not necessarily surprising. It's in the genetic code. I do enjoy the tv show Jackass on MTV. As a matter of fact, my wife made me stop watching the second Jackass movie last week. Watching it, and laughing, was triggering a worrisome asthma attack and horrific cough, and she didn't want to have to spend the evening in a hospital. I'm also one of those people that will watch the youtube videos of people smacking into walls and falling down and things like that.
It's just that my son has taken appreciation of pain and begun to turn it into an art form. Not bad, for a six month old.
Where to begin... first of all, head butts are hilarious. He truly enjoys ramming his forehead into my nose, cheek, chin (that one can hurt) or other exposed part. This is followed by giggles and laughter, then a repeat. If there is a solid "thunk" sound, then he is happy.
The next thing is his bouncing and dancing. He loves standing on our laps, supporting himself with his hands. He's done that for a long time. Because he loves his jumparoo, he also enjoys standing on us and dancing. With me, he always starts stomping directly on the family jewels. My wife assumes that he's trying to remove the possibility of having a brother or sister, but I know better. He enjoys the bloodcurdling screams of agony from his father. No matter what I do, he goes exactly for his favorite bouncing point. This is done with that beautiful, gummy smile of his.
I've spoken about the semi-co-sleeping that we've been doing lately. But, do you know how he wakes us up? He starts pounding on me in the morning. Rapidfire punches to my back (I sleep on my stomach) are his preferred method of waking. They don't hurt (certainly not as much as the whole dancing-on-the-crotch thing), but it's only a matter of time before the punches are being done with blunt instruments. Still, the punches are thrown as he looks with love upon his daddy - and the look in those eyes, as he clubs me into submission, is worth every moment of agony.
Since his teeth have started sprouting in, his discovered the latest method of inflicting pain: sharp, quick bites, designed to separate flesh from bone. His preferred target? The tip of my nose. That's sensitive flesh, my friend: when subjected to sharp, pointy little teeth, quick agony ensues. Agony, followed by gales of high-pitched baby giggles. When the nose isn't available, he'll gorge himself on fingers, toes, arms, legs or whatever else falls into the ministrations of that patient, fiendish, cute-as-a-button mouth.
I am interested to see what other methods he will choose in his lifetime to inflict pain upon me. He might pitch, forcing these tired old knees to spend hours in the catcher's pose, wearing the Tools of Ignorance. He might play drums (G-d forbid). He might take up knife throwing. Or, worst of all, he might be a Red Sox fan.