a rattle in a baby's hand... is worth 2 bumps in a mummy's head

So there I was showing my 7-month old son, North, the rattle I brought him from my brief sojourn to the city--a cheap bribe for leaving him to the care of his grandmother for three days. Excitement was dancing in his eyes when he reached for his new toy. He was squealing with delight as he perused with his chubby fingers its pastel-colored flower rings, cylinders and the googly eyes--and then he discovered it makes a sound, too! I buried my face in his neck, trying to drown myself with the smell only babies exude as he makes the connection between shaking the rattle and the sound it makes, then WHACK! North hit my head with the rattle. I have barely recovered with the surprise and pain when he hit my head a second time! Wait, this isn't cute anymore. I shrieked in pain (okay, must be a little overacting there), my hand in my right temple. The grandmother, sensing danger to her favorite grandson, took him in haste saving him from the wrath of the Wicked Witch (my mum thinks I am the WW). My father was laughing the whole time, said North must be telling me something (like, "you were gone for too long", or "you should have bought me a better toy!").

Learned my lesson the hard way--i should not buy him a toy that resembles a club and maybe better if the rattle is made of rubber. Well, North kissed the bumps hours later (ok, ok, I made him). The new rattle? Kept in the closet--to be taken out when he turns 5. Haha!