When your love for children’s paraphernalia spirals out of control
I remember once walking down the kids aisle in Sainsbury’s and glancing at the toys wondering what sort of substances the creators of these atrocities were on. I remember thinking that I’d never seen such a pointless and bizarre array of plush creatures.
Two years later and I’m sat in a room full of children’s merchandise. Just to be clear that room is my living room. I said I’d stop at the second Teletubby- but didn’t think it would be fair to exclude Tinky Winky from the set. I said no more after my daughter’s first birthday; I didn’t want her to become “spoilt”. Now here I am costing up the entire cast of ‘In the night garden’ on Argos. “But Arielle likes the Ninky Nonk”- yeah she also likes the tea coasters and bits of leftover wrapping paper.
I’ve thrown around the words “no more toys” so many times to family members but really I’m the guiltiest culprit. What’s worse is I’m starting to feel like I’m buying these toys for myself. Arielle only really loves Po and kicks Dipsy around the flat like a crap football. Are these toys really for me? Well the thought of watching Teletubbies by myself makes me want to die of boredom so probably not.
How did I get here? I think I have become so obsessed with making my daughter happy that I feel a huge, overwhelming urge to “give her everything”. I don’t even think it’s the material value of the toy just the love and magic that toys can bring. I remember adoring all my toys as a kid, giving each and everyone a name and sometimes even a job. I want my daughter to experience this sort of vibe. I also want to get invited to a tea party with Iggle Piggle and Stitch.
Am I nuts? Yeah, for sure. But sue me for wanting my daughter to love toys as much as I did as a child (don’t sue please I’m broke). It’s not really about the toy itself but what it represents.