Screwy

When Lyla yawns, her face screws up into the same expression as when she cries, which often makes her cry. I think she figures, if my face is like this, then maybe I'm upset about something.

Her yawn-cries never last long, which makes sense since nothing was bothering her in the first place.

Babies' yawns are the most natural yawns in the world. Same with their sneezes. It makes me wonder how the sneezes and yawns of adults become so absurd. Certainly you know people who sneeze, but it's not really even a sneeze because they try to hold it in. The sound is an apologetic "Ach-sng" and you wonder if their head will explode and shoot bits of brain from their ears.

At some point early in their lives, somebody taught them to be ashamed of their sneezes. Perhaps it's a Minnesota thing. I picture overbearing mothers who may or may not be Scandinavian: "That sneeze nearly knocked the hotdish out of my hands. Geez Louise."

And their yawns are like mortified little facial seizures. As kids they yawned in church once. "Is Jesus boring you? Perhaps you'll find the eternal fires of hell more exciting."

"Mommy, we're Lutherans. We hardly believe in hell."

"Stop making a scene, dear."

I suppose it's natural to try to get your kid to suppress their natural urges when they become embarrassing. One day I will teach Lyla that when someone new is holding her, she should try not to poop. And one day she'll need to cover those sneezes with a hand or sleeve. But for now, her sneezes are delightful. Each is a perfect "Achoo" with a tiny exclamation point at the end, and I can't imagine ever trying to shame that out of her.