These chimes fascinate and frustrate Baby Seth. Not content with merely kicking them as he lays under his play gym, he has learned to rotate himself by curving his back just so and flailing until he is 90 degrees from his original position so that he can grab these darling chimes with his chubby little fists.
Catching one is a bit of a feat all by itself, even when perfectly positioned. The little toys dangling from the chimes dodge about with the lightest touch, setting the chimes in motion to taunt him with their music. Finally captured, they are no more docile than before. They stubbornly resist his efforts to stuff them into his mouth.
Seth grunts and writhes, tugging until his head, neck and shoulders are off the ground, feet flailing in the air as well, like a flipped turtle on its shell. He smacks his mouth in anticipation, but he just cannot get them into a satisfying gnaw. It isn’t long before his scowls and grunts turn to sobs, and his momma must rescue him.
I hide the chimes, and substitute another dangly toy, a quieter rattle, beads on a ring. He holds the ring and tells it about the chimes. He fingers the beads and goes cross-eyed studying them, singing to them with a grumbly coo, slowly unwinding, relaxing. Soothed, he gnaws this friend until his shirt is soaked with drool and his tummy is craving something for itself. Again, momma rescues him, and we nurse.