It makes sense. This is where the eating happens. This is where the food comes. And so you enter the dining room with hope in your eyes and a jaunt in your waddle.
You round the corner and pause, dazzled by the transformation the normally drab room has undergone. Orange and white ribbons festoon the walls, spiraling out from bundles of balloons. You long to reach up and grab one, to gnaw it and worry it and scratch it like a wolf cub.
But you shake your head. Focus. There are bigger prizes to be won this day.
You toddle over to the table and climb up the side of your high chair with the confidence of an experienced mountaineer. You peer up over the edge of the table and your breath catches at the wonder of it all.
Presents. Mounds of presents, interspersed with balloons and curls of ribbons and fat rubber bouncing balls. A cornucopia of mysterious awesomeness, cocooned away within bright wrapping paper. Your heart fills with longing. How you love shredding paper. Your mother just doesn’t understand how she hurts you when she moves her prized collection of first edition books JUST out of reach. But this… this…
You feel your resolve wavering. There is no cake here, and time is short. Your mother knows you cannot be trusted alone for more than a few moments at a time. What’s a baby to do?
If you decide to open just a few presents, just for a little while, click here.
If you decide to keep hunting through the kitchen, click here.
If you decide to continue the search in your parents’ bedroom, click here.