Yesterday when I got home, I walked in through the back door leading into our kitchen. I saw Belly opening the pantry door in search of a snack before dinner. He glanced over and saw me, but I guess it didn't really register that the person in the long black coat in the semi-dark kitchen wasn't a threat, because when I yelled out "HELLL-OOOO!" like Robin Williams did in Mrs. Doubtfire, it almost gave poor Belly a massive coronary.
He literally jumped up in the air, as if he'd been electrocuted, and fell in a ball like crouch on the floor, hiding his head while he immediately started wailing. Then, to make me feel like total shit, he went to his grandma for comfort. I ran over and apologized profusely, and he finally came to me, still crying and clinging to my neck while (I'm sure) simultaneously hating me. As I tried to calm him down, near the spot of the attack, my husband burst in the same door I'd just come through and growled like a rabid lion. I was holding Belly and I can tell you that he startled something fierce, like a deer after hearing a shotgun blast. Back to the wailing he went, at this point making a mental note to start calling orphanages in the morning to get the hell out of this house where people (and the shower, if you recall) are trying to kill him.
While Belly was crying and trying to bring his tiny heart rate back to normal, Golden Boy scolded Daddy for scaring the Belly when he was already upset. Why didn't I get scolded for starting the whole thing? Because he knows better, that's why.
Eventually Belly calmed down and forgave us for taking 10 years off his life. So now you know, if you ever want to torment a small child ...