So that’s it, my last Baby is one. ONE!!!! And of course turning one means you’ve had a birthday. And birthdays generally mean presents (and cake, birthdays always mean cake). Baby birthday presents if you please.
I *may* have mentioned our impending move out of Dubai and with it our move out of our lovely villa into a serviced apartment with all our belongings currently on a ship somewhere in the Gulf heading back to the UK. All except the few bags we are living out of for the next couple of months. Which means we are limited on space. And as such we are limited on what birthday presents we could actually get the littlest man in our life.
Turns out it doesn’t really matter because yes, all babies need is love. And of course, they all need the toys that are not toys. This is what the Baby REALLY wanted for his birthday.
Dear Mummy and Daddy,
Thank you for giving me life and making sure I survived my first year, despite my love of climbing on coffee tables and kamikaze crawling. And thank you indeed for my lovely birthday presents. I guess you can’t go wrong with a book, and I’m sorry if my smile didn’t quite reach my eyes, but you see, this is what I really wanted for my birthday…
Not the fake plastic toy keys. The actual, metal, car keys. To bash myself in the head with, to bang on the floor, then to crawl away and leave them to be stood on. To leave in places where you can’t find when we need to be somewhere. I like it when you run around like a crazy lady Mummy, it’s funny.
(We got him the fake kind. Mean.)
The Toilet Bowl
I would like one of my own please. Not a silly potty. Not a pretend toilet. An actual real life one. It’s the perfect height for me to stand on. And it’s full of water. I like water….
Toys do not belong on your face. They belong in my hands. Or mouth. Whichever.
Plugs and Wires
Those plug things that are just the right size to fit into my hands, those sticky out bits make ideal chew toys. You see, my teeth hurt and they get right in the right spot. And the wires, well I love to pull things, who knows what surprise is at the other end?!
What do you mean it’s not for me?! I want the shiny, flicking thing. And I want to throw it on the floor.
A more standard request, balloons are all things party right? But I want them blown up so I can chase them round like a dog and bite them until the pop in my face and make me cry.
It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want too.
Seriously though, thanks for the book. You think it might help make me sleep?! We’ll see…..
x x x
You can follow our adventures from the sandpit (and beyond) over on Facebook, see you there!