Either I’ve got a second career as a stand-up comic, or my baby daughter thinks I’m a professional clown.

Since the girl started laughing (oh, about ten days ago), she quite literally cracks up every time she sees me or hears my voice. It doesn’t matter if she’s eating, crying or completely distracted by the ceiling fan in our kitchen. For her, Daddy = funny, period.

Of course this new revelation pleases me on a number of levels. For starters, I’ve never been the funny guy among family or friends, so it’s wonderful to feel like Jim Carrey or Jim Gaffigan for a change. Second, her little laughs are so frieking cute that anything to spark them is cause for celebration.

Finally, L’s laughter is contagious, so if I make her laugh, she makes me laugh right back again.

The $10-million question: Do I really warrant all of these chuckles? In other words, am I funny to anyone except my four-month-old?

Surely my work with the whale puppets must be hilarious. And the way I voice some of those other stuffed animals (the stork, for instance, speaks with an Indian accent; Terrence the turtle is a fan of hip-hop) has had to prompt some knee-slapping in the past. I make good (attempts at) puns. Sometimes I even smush the sides of my belly button to make it look like a tiny mouth.

I think that kind of stuff is funny as hell. Then again, I also really like Pee-Wee Herman.

I’m learning that another wonderful thing about being a dad is that when your kids make you feel funny, you don’t actually have to be funny at all. The No. 1 goal is to keep them laughing. If they’re laughing, they’re interested, I once read. At this age, “interested” is a very good thing. Let’s just hope it sticks.