There are certain toys that can date a generation of children with pretty keen accuracy (Etch-a-sketch anyone? Sindy, before Barbie ripped her to shreds?) Well I have a feeling that this year’s babies will be dated by a million snapshots in which Sophie, the ubiquitous French teething giraffe, makes a cameo appearance.
Today, whilst walking home from a coffee session with my NCT homies, I’m ashamed to say that I had a fit of Sophie-envy and bought one for James from the nearest shop. “See, James, now you can stop being an individual and be just like all the other babies. Yeah!”
Still, for a piece of squeaky rubber, It’s remarkable how much he seems to like it. He grinned at it inanely the minute he laid eyes on it, and chomped and slobbered away as soon as he got it into his sticky paw.
Continuing with the relentless slavery to STUFF, I suspect next month’s jouet du jour is going to be the Bumbo chair…
In other news, I took the microbe to a clinic today to get his measurements done. I told the lady that I was a bit concerned that he might be underweight for his length and not getting enough milk. However she declared that his weight is still (just) on the 25th percentile line and therefore not a cause for worry. Oddly, she refused to do his length measurement, on the basis that “it doesn’t tell us anything”. Hmmm… does weight mean anything in isolation? What if he’s grown longer than his weight? What if he still has a ginormous head? Why does his red book have a chart for length as well as weight? (I suppose G and I are going to have to have a go at measuring him ourselves in order to assuage our curiosity…)