blowin' raspberries

  Even before Evening was born, I loved to blow raspberries.  Particularly on the unsuspecting bellies of nephews and nieces that always erupted into giggles.  So I wasn’t surprised when Evening inherited this trait.

  At our house you can often see me holding Evening in the air and blowing a raspberry on her chest while she simultaneously blows one on my forehead.

  Our first conversation was an exchange of air raspberries, and we still converse in raspberry once or twice a day.  I’ve been told this is quite fun to see by some friends, while another mentioned that it wasn’t very lady-like.  I suspect her corset was just a little too tight that day and we haven’t worried about it. 

  A few days ago I noticed Evening blowing a raspberry in her sleep.  Which was absolutely, swoon-inducingly adorable for this mummy.

  Yet it did nothing to prepare me for her next move.  

  She was peacefully nursing away, having her baby-lunch, very much alert and contented staring at the ceiling and playing with her little blanket.

  Then she suddenly stopped nursing and blew a raspberry right there, "Pfffffffft!" sending out a shower of tiny milk droplets.  It was so unexpected (and tickling) that I immediately burst out laughing.  She smiled at me ever-so-wisely and continued nursing without missing a beat.

  For a baby learning about cause and effect, this is a wonderful thing, being able to make mummy burst out laughing like that (and so much better than the biting and screaming we had a few weeks ago).

  So now it’s her go-to move.  She’s been doing it every time she nurses, and with impeccable timing.  She’s so peaceful, quiet, and contentedly nursing when suddenly, “Pfffft!” with the accompanying white shower. 

  Cracks me up every time.