While contending with a shrieking, nipple-destroying turd-ninja your attention isn’t on stacking cups and xylophones… you’re more focused on managing mascara on both eyes and finding a pair of leggings that aren’t
too ‘crispy’ to wear.
Toy shops are terrifying for new mums, cloisters of gyrating, motion-sensing anti-matter where children will tear out their own kidneys to get their hands on a Peppa Pig scooter. I need a massage and a litre of gin just to recover.
Toys should never be allowed to come in white. Or should come with warnings that advise giving anything neutral-coloured to a toddler is bad for your health. And will most likely result in tears (yours), anger and violence (theirs). Along with making them more determined to colour your sofa with lasagne.
Boy/girl toys also seem to mean nothing to a toddler. My daughter uses her doll buggy to play ‘chicken’ with my cats and won’t sleep without her dump truck and calculator.
I haven’t a clue if she has too much, too little, or would be happier playing with her own faeces. There is always a mum that turns up to play group with their one year old in miniature pink Mini, carrying a talking handbag, and eating a rice cake from their musical cookie jar… and another whose child is wearing their trousers as a hat and chewing on their nappy. Okay, the second example is my child.
In the attempt to stop my lounge turning into the entire pre-school section of Argos, I now divide toys into four boxes:
3. Wooden (Makes us feel middle class when we have visitors.)
4. Never. (AKA Musical)
With enough in rotation my sofa stays lasagne-free on an average day.
So what am I saying? Well, due to the baby-brain and all the gin, not much. But I think if she’s having fun and I can hide in my bathroom with Tanqueray and a Toblerone as she destroys my living room, that’ll do for now.