The latest must-have toy
A poem on the age-old question: why do we bother to buy babies toys?
The whole world is a toy, isn’t it? For a baby. Everything and anything can be played with, when you really think about it; they’ve got no idea that some things (usually the things you can buy) are officially classified as ‘fun’, and others (usually the stuff that comes along for free) not. It’s all new and interesting to them.
I think about this a lot. Like, not long ago, we were at a National Trust place and there were so many beautiful things to look at: trees, flowers, architecture, bright, cloud-fluffed sky. But Arthur wasn’t bothered. He was completely transfixed by the fire escape sign, utterly entranced by the contrasting bright green and white. How should he know that that’s not what he was supposed to look at? That it was an objectively boring, disinteresting thing, surrounded by objectively interesting, enriching things?
Maybe we should all spend a bit more time finding the fun in the officially un-fun, and the beauty in the ‘drab’ and ‘ugly’.
Anyway, I wrote a poem about the fact that, despite all the lovely, sensory, colourful toys he has, Arthur would much rather play with an old leaf, a baby sock, a speck of dust, a box, or his own trousers. And there’s one thing in particular that, if he spots it across the room, he will race as fast as his little paws and knees will carry him (which is faster than I can put down a cup of tea and stand up, as I discovered when trying to intercept him en route to attacking the robot vacuum cleaner).
Here you are. I’ve finished this post instead of doing my actual paid work in the precious few hours Arthur’s in nursery so, enjoy.
THE LATEST MUST-HAVE TOY!
It’s not the light-up electronic drums,
Or the shark-shaped chew that soothes his gums.
He’ll take or leave the stuffed dragon — handmade
in my craft-filled baby-waiting days.
What about that colourful wooden train?
Or the cartoonish yellow moustache plane?
Now and then, maybe, they’ll get a chance,
But he rarely takes a second glance.
His egg box? No. The guitar? Ignored.Â
The rainmaker leaves him nodding bored.
Those handpicked toys, gifts from my mum,
That cheerful chimp with big, round tum,
The change-time cheese, Corduroy Brie.Â
No, thanks, he says. They’re not for me.
The must-have favourite for this boy?
It’s a simple, sort-of, not-quite toy.
Not a car, a bear, or a ball to chase —
Just a purple, silicone muffin case.