As the Rhythm Time teacher proffered a handful of lollipop bright maracas, C's eye's glinted and a slow trickle of drool dripped down her chin. She reached for the red one and opened her mouth wide ready to chomp down on the hard plastic sphere. Two white pegs through, eighteen more to come, makes anything and everything a likely teether.
Handle grabbed, she raised her arm hungrily towards her mouth and ... stopped. She lifted it further, but again it didn't make contact. Instead, as she waved her hand about, the musical instrument rattled and she let out a delighted giggle. Small wave. Rattle. Big shake. RATTLE. Bash Mummy repeatedly on the knee. Rattle, rattle, rattle. Bash yourself on the head. Rattle, cry. Bash Mummy on the head. Rattle, laugh. Bash the floor. RATTLE.
For half an hour, with a vice-like grip, the maraca was a toy and remained unchomped. The bottom button of my cardigan, now that's another matter.
1 year ago