You Know What's the Best Toy You Can Give Your Baby?

Yeah, that's right.  I said it.  The best toy?  (Any of my siblings can give the rest of the speech from here; it's been my father's refrain every time he saw a baby, particularly if his embarrassed children particularly wanted him not to approach complete strangers and give them child-rearing advice).

A pendulum ball.

Which my baby doesn't have, but needs immediately.  Because she's clearly absolutely dying to have something hanging over her that she can bat at.  Today, I finally constructed the baby gym and stuck her under the exciting hanging things.  I wasn't sure that she was quite old enough for it (Yes, I know that the speech that we're all reciting in our heads stresses that Eric was batting a ball around at some ungodly young age, but I have been reading things about what colors she can see and how far away and whatnot, and I just wasn't sure).

She was mesmerized.  Thrilled.  Happy.  Eyes were tracking the hanging teething ring (at least I think that's what it is.  It looks like you one of those things that you freeze and give to teething babies to numb their gums.  I'm not sure what the point is in suspending a teething ring just out of a child's reach, unless one is a cruel and unnatural parent, but there it is.  It's good to know that we have the means to torture the baby should we wish).  When I went to pick her up, she didn't seem to want to go - and by didn't seem to want to go, I mean cried when I picked her up.  So I put her back down and let her play until she fell asleep.

 

Notice the fixed stare and waving hand.  There was much batting and waving and excitement when I reached out and tapped the thing to set it swinging again.

This child needs a ball.  Desperately.

(Also, notice how we're channeling Little Red Riding Hood today.  We're hoping, however, that neither of her grandmothers get eaten by wolves.  Are there wolves in Southern Mexico?  Also, Mom, should anyone lupine come to the door, don't answer it, and lay in a good supply of woodcutters to deal with the aftermath should your precautionary measures prove ineffective).