OBaby and I were enjoying a nice afternoon last week window shopping on Grand Avenue when I ducked into a baby shop. They carried Iron Maiden onesies and pink organza tutus. Quite the spread.
And there they were, in a basket by the $60 size 4 purple infant cowgirl boots: some assorted wood baby toys.
I’m a sucker for wooden toys.
OBaby is a sucker of baby toys (::snort snort::).
I quickly decided that we would not be leaving the eclectic shop without this beauty, a stretchy circle of colorful wooden beads that can be rearranged (and, more importantly, sucked on).
OBaby was happy in his ring sling on my hip as I paid for the toy and headed for the car to go home and have what I was hoping would be an afternoon nap of epic proportions. Being the awesome, impromptu toy buying mommy that I am, I gave him the balls to suck on in his car seat.
He was content and quiet for the entire ride home, and if you know my son, you are impressed right now.
“That’s one awesome toy,” I thought.
Upon picking him up out of his seat, I realized whence cometh that contented silence. Mommy left the cardboard tag on that awesome toy.
Half of the tag was nowhere to be seen, the other half was soggy and unrecognizable.
“Remove all hanging tags and labels before giving to a child,” has never been so poingant. Not that I would ever be so absent minded as to give my child some cardboard to chew on unsupervised, or anything.
And the next day, when that half of the tag that was nowhere to be seen could be seen, ahem, in OBaby’s diaper, I did not consider grabbing the camera and documenting the still legible words “Classic” and “Toy”.
Nope. That’s disgusting. That thought would never cross my mind.
[Not Me Monday, a blog carnival hosted by MckMama]