baby toys

On the eve of my fifth birthday, my Mum took me to a toy shop to choose my present. I was told to pick out whatever I wanted and I was let loose. Trawling through the aisles I settled at the cuddly toys and fell in love.

This is one of my earliest memories and it’s an important one. This was the day I met Spot the dog. My first love.

This small, stuffed, Dalmatian dog has been with me at every important milestone in my life and is now the grand old age of 25. His nose is tattered, his fur is grey (despite how many times he’s put through the washing machine), he was a patch of pink paint on his bum from when I unwisely painted my room a god-awful neon pink shade and he’s wise beyond his years. As soon as this dog was put in my arms at the till, we were inseparable.

There’s 11 years between my sister and I so I didn’t have the sibling camaraderie that others did. Although our house was always full of cousins or friends there were times, when everyone had gone home, that I was lonely. When that happened, he was the friend and confidante that I needed and the comfort of his ‘company’ has never left me.

When the time came to put aside my toys, Spot still had pride of place on my bed. When I was sad and things weren’t going my way he was there with a hug, when I was angry or frustrated with life he was there to vent to, when I packed up my stuff to leave home he was the last thing to be packed away and first to be taken out and when I’m at my worst I often wake up to find that Conor has tucked him in beside me.

Over the years I have fended off the advances of my nephew and two nieces who have taken a shine to him (I’m not proud of that…) and had no intention of ever being parted from my very best friend until about six months ago.

In the mountain of toys that Oliver played with he happened to spot Spot. Understandably he was smitten and I feared I was about to be parted with my oldest friend.

It started innocently enough: taking him to bed at nap time, chatting his gibberish to him and giving him hugs. It wasn’t until one morning I came into Oliver’s room and found him giving him kisses in between whispers that I knew I was fighting a losing battle and there was no way I could take him back again.

Since then, he’s added another to his entourage – Atticus, the bear. I was told under no circumstances would I be allowed to call any future children this name so I’m christening a lot of Oliver’s teddies strange names…

There will be no sleep in this house unless he has them both with him by bedtime – hence a late night dash to granny’s house when I forgot to take them back with us after a sleepover in order to stop a distraught toddler. The three of them lie in a row and when we go in to turn off his night light we move them to the bottom of the bed. Without fail, he will wake up and squeal with delight to find that his friends have magically moved.

I can’t blame Oliver for loving Spot as much as he does. He was a great friend to me and I know he’ll be just as great to Oliver; I just hope my son doesn’t judge me too severely when I eventually crack and steal him back when he sleeps.

Kidding. Maybe.

Son, when you grow up and you’re preparing for your first born, I’d like you to make a list of everything you need.
Then half it.
Get rid of another 20%, and just for the hell of it cross off the last two items.
Now, that’s about the right amount of things that will actually be used/needed.

This evening your Dad has been clearing out the living room of the ridiculous amount of play things in an attempt to find us a place to sit.
It turns out, at this age, it’s not necessary for you to own every single toy ever made.
In fact, you’re happiest chewing on my arm.
So bearing this in mind we’ve decided to reclaim a sofa. We’re selfish like that.

I’d like to think that this new-found clarity is because I’m becoming wiser as a parent but I’d just really like to cross from one side of the room to the other without navigating through a Fisher Price obstacle course.
The reality is, you’re a good kid and all you really want is a few things to chew on.
To be fair you’ve pretty similar needs to that of a hamster.

By the time your sibling comes along we will be much more sensible and know that we probably won’t need 19 contraptions to sit them in, because all they’ll ever want is to be held by us all bloody day.
And if you think a battery operated swing is a sound investment – it’s not. You hated that godforsaken swing from the get-go.
It’s currently being used as a hanger for your clothes.
The next baby will be lucky if they get scissors to play with.

I’ve really just been trying to show you how much I love you by buying as much useless crap as humanly possible.
It’s completely ridiculous and the majority of the time you’re not remotely interested in anything I give you.
Today, you spent twenty minutes chatting to the lampshade in our bedroom instead of playing with the latest child genius toy I’ve wisely invested in blindly handed money over for.

I hope I will bring this responsible way of thinking into other stages of your development.
Weaning, for example, is another minefield for me to prove how much I ‘love’ you.
It’s unrealistic to think that you can survive off organic unicorn tears – sometimes a jar of pureed peas will be ok.

So next time I think you really need that life-sized stuffed hippo I’ll remember to hand you some matches to play with instead.

Love always,

Mum

My First Love

Less is More

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