Cackle

We don't let John go in the kitchen. Certainly not by himself. In our kitchen there are hot stoves, dog food bowls (full of delicious kibble and fun-to-splash water), open flames, broken glass and rusty razor blades. It's no place for a baby.

So what does he do when we don't have the gate up in the kitchen door?

He crawls as fast as he can (about as fast as one of the facehuggers in Aliens - that is, spooky-fast) into the kitchen, cackling the whole way because he knows what he is doing is deliciously, wonderfully forbidden! Shall he eat some kibble? Touch the glowing hot stove? Pull over the teetering garbage can? Who knows? Life is a splendid adventure in the kitchen!