Toddlers like very small toys.
Stupid little shitty easy to lose toys that Mummies and Daddies regret buying – or curse other people for buying – or want to punch the manufacturers in the fucking face for creating.
Little pointy jaggy toys that get thrown all around the house and hurt like hot pokers when stood on .
Choking hazards that they like to pass to babies.
Mummies and Daddies have to hone their ninja skills when these minute weapons are produced.
Ready to pounce to remove them from the ‘baby radius’. Prancing around the house sometimes like something out of mission impossible as the toddler was looking for one specific microscopic toy in a gargantuan box of approximately 1,000,000 fucking idiotically designed toys the size of a stabby little atom.
This one is slightly larger, it’s called ‘Dauder’ – every time Nina asks where she is three things happen.
1. My soul dies a thousand deaths, my physical being sinks and I contemplate how wonderful it would be to have the power of invisibility as I know I’m going to have to find the fucking thing.
2. I inwardly laugh as she puts me in mind of Nigel Planer from ‘Filthy, Rich and Catflap’. #showingmyage
3. I feel an overwhelming sense of achievement when I find her, demand a high five from the (totally ungrateful) child then if the sun’s over the yard arm, reward myself with a drink because I’m super ace at finding crap ??