My son is absolutely fearless. We’ve taken him travelling quite a bit including to Japan where we walked in on a steampunk convention with all kinds of scary masks.
He sees all kinds of wild animals and generally would like to go touch them. He’s not afraid of being thrown around or swung around or fake dropped or even actually getting hurt (though thankfully he’s pretty careful with hot things). He’s also quite the chatty cat, having quite the vocabulary at just over a year and a half old, and keeps on talking away all day long.
Unless he’s exhausted, he absolutely loves strangers. We ran into a friend of mine the other day who my son’s never seen before and as he started tickling my son’s feet a little my friend was completely ignored.
“No stranger danger there eh,” he remarked.
My son’s cousin, who’s not much older, is the exact opposite. She’s quiet and doesn’t like strangers, especially men, very much at all. In her mind, I’m still considered a stranger meaning that if she’s happily playing at grandma and grandpa’s she freezes up instantly.
Recently, we discovered another way in which they’re opposites from each other. I’m not sure where it came from or why they have it at all, but at the grandparents’ house, there is a rubber chicken/turkey. It’s been given the moniker “George.”
George, like most rubber chickens, makes a pretty loud noise when you squish him. I don’t know why rubber chickens make that sound, it never sounds anything like an actual chicken. Generally, my son really doesn’t mind loud noises, at all.
For instance, he absolutely loves popping big inflated plastic packaging. I’m not talking about bubblewrap; he would consider that child’s play. No, I mean the size of packaging the size of a small grocery store bag. They make a pop as loud or louder than a balloon. The last time he got so excited that he ran around with the popped packaging for a while.
However, George is another thing altogether. He doesn’t like George at all and would probably cry if he was forced to hold George. Although he’s kind of okay with watching someone put George into a kitchen drawer for George to go “night, night.”
His cousin, on the other hand, is completely fine with George. I guess we’ve finally found my son’s Kryptonite.