Nurturing Infant Joy, Connection and Curiosity in the Earliest Years - Part 2 - Curiosity
My workshop on laughing babies at the Early-Years.org 60th Anniversary conference was wonderful fun. After we’d explored "connection", we turned to another foundational theme in early development: "curiosity". If connection is the spark that draws babies into shared experience, curiosity is what keeps them coming back. It’s what drives them to test, to poke, to pull things apart, and to laugh, again and again, at the delightful surprises the world throws their way.
To understand curiosity, it helps to go back to the beginning—literally. At birth, giraffes can stand and walk within hours. Their evolutionary path favoured specialisation and built-in abilities. But human babies, by contrast, are born profoundly helpless. Walking takes the better part of a year. If evolution could give giraffes their legs at birth, it could have done the same for us. So why didn’t it?
It’s because humans took a radically different approach: instead of specialising, we became the ultimate generalists. We didn’t hardwire our skills into our genes—we outsourced them to learning. We built a brain not for any one task, but for figuring out whatever the world throws at us. This choice has a powerful ripple effect. Big-brained babies are born early and undercooked—needing intense care. Which in turn requires big-brained caregivers. And so begins a virtuous cycle: helpless babies → more intelligent parenting → even smarter babies. This is the evolutionary feedback loop beautifully modelled by Piantadosi & Kidd (2016), and it starts from day one.

But curiosity isn’t just about intelligence—it’s about joy. One of my favourite ways to describe infancy is as the “training montage” from a superhero film. You’ve got these amazing powers, language, movement, music, mindreading and much much more, but you don’t know how they work yet. The first few years are when babies train up, trying things out, and laughing when it clicks.
And laughter is the signal.
In one of my favourite studies, a team led by Rana Esseily in Paris showed babies how to retrieve a toy duck using a rake. Some infants saw the demonstration played straight. Others saw a version where the experimenter knocked the duck to the floor and laughed. Then the babies were given the duck and rake to try themselves. The result? Babies who had seen the “funny” version—and had laughed themselves—were twice as likely to succeed. Laughter, here, wasn’t just a reaction. It was a sign of insight. Of understanding. You can read the full study here.
As one participant said during our morning session, “Laughter was the signal that he got it—when he banged the helium balloon and it came back, he kept doing it because now he understood the game.” Another remembered a little boy delighted by a popping noise she made with her cheek—“He couldn’t do it, but he knew what it was meant to be. And he just laughed and laughed.” In both cases, laughter was the lightbulb moment. The “that’s funny…” which, as Isaac Asimov famously said, is the true engine of scientific discovery.
That's why infant psychologist Alison Gopnik likes to remind us that babies are little scientists, but that scientists are just big babies. Curiosity isn't something we develop; it's our evolutionary default.
And of course, the best learning happens when we’re relaxed, engaged and playful. One practitioner told us how a rowing coach used humour to help her relax—and suddenly she was able to perform much better. “When she told me, ‘now let’s laugh,’ my whole body relaxed, and I could row properly again. Because I laughed.” It's not a trivial point. In early years—and in life—laughter marks the moment when learning feels safe.
But how far can we take this?
We asked a big, provocative question in the session: what if we used laughter as a metric of learning? Reactions were thoughtful—and mixed. Some loved the idea. “If you asked my kids how often they laugh in school, it wouldn’t be during lessons—it’d be at lunch. That’s not right.” Others were more cautious: “Just because a child laughs doesn’t mean they’re learning. It could be nerves. It could be a mask.” One participant described a child who always laughed when she was scolded. Only later did they learn that she was using laughter to soothe the adult—to manage their emotions, not hers.
Still, there was broad agreement that laughter has a place in our pedagogy. “We should record the joy,” one person said. “That’s part of the child’s voice.” Others pointed to the resilience-building role of humour. “If you laugh when the tower falls, you’re learning that failure’s okay. You build again. That’s huge.”
Another attendee summed it up beautifully: “We need a pedagogy of laughter—but we also need to be the observant observer. Otherwise, we miss what the child is really telling us.”
Reflect & Discuss
- When have you seen a baby laugh as they figured something out? What was the discovery?
- If a baby laughs when the tower falls, what might they be learning? What if you knock it over?
- Could we measure laughter in our practice—or would that ruin the magic? What would a healthy balance look like?
In the final post, we’ll turn to Joy—the deep pleasure infants take in the world, and how we can centre joy in early-years environments, not as an extra, but as the goal.
Read Part 1 here - Nurturing Infant Joy, Connection and Curiosity in the Earliest Years - Part 1 Connection