Having hit the ‘magical’ age, Wills is now age appropriate for a whole host of interactive toys.
Oh what fresh hell is this?
Why do they have to be so sodding irritating? And another thing, all that bull crap on the packaging that states your child will learn about shapes and colours.
No they won’t.
Because they don’t leave enough time between jabbing the assorted buttons to hear the shape, colour or number in it’s entirety. And who needs to hear colours when you can just make it moo repeatedly?
One thing I will say for them they seem pretty indestructible, Wills seems at his most content when he’s smacking something, preferable with something else. The more it hurts my eardrums the better. I’m unsure if this is a phase or he’s a thug, I suppose time will tell. In the meantime, I encourage the cats to keep their distance!
So our living room often looks like we’ve ram-raided Toys R Us and hearing the creepy child-like voices emanating from bright plastic toys, accompanied by seizure inducing light shows has led me to some pretty dark thoughts:
What if the toys met with some sort of accident?
I’m not sure I’d get away with it, he may only be six months old but I’m quite sure he has some sort of inventory stashed away somewhere, maybe under his mattress.
In other news:
I’m not sure my house will ever be tidy again. Ever.
The recent Cat-War shows no signs of a peace treaty.
Wills and I have had our passport photos taken. Wills looks cute as a button, I look less like a serial killer but very much like I haven’t had a decent rest since July.
The Postpartum Years 