Contagious

For a couple of weeks now, Annika has been spontaneously breaking into what Lily and I now call the "Happy Song." This consists of her shaking her shoulders, waving her head from side to side, and singing the words, "Happy, happy, happy!" repeatedly, all while smiling winsomely at her audience. This is one of those "baby book" items (that isn't yet in the still-blank baby book) because it so epitomizes to me who this child is. It also seems relevant to me in a time when happiness is a focus of study for writers, psychologists and sociologists, as well as a key player in the zeitgeist. Americans seem mildly obsessed with happiness these days: What is it, how do we get it, why do we need it, and more. The thing is about Annika, that she just is. And she has been that way from the very beginning: happy. I don't mean to imply that all this fuss about happiness is really pointless because so much of it seems to be a person's birthright, or maybe I do, a little bit. Don't get me wrong. I certainly believe that a person can make themselves more or less happy than they might be by nature, and that circumstance and discipline and sheer awareness can have a major impact on how happy we are. But the fact is, some of us are born singing the "Happy Song." I feel fortunate to have one in my house.