Mommy is lying on her back in a sea of toys on the floor. Her arms and legs extended like a starfish. This is my opportunity. As a 7-month-old, I can’t waste any more time.
I quickly crawl towards her, so fast that my hands slapping the wooden floor make putter-platter sounds like a fish swimming on land.
I sat down next to the bottom of her feet, her toes pointing upwards.
With a big inhale, I lean over and take a bite of her biggest toe.
Success! The distressed, red toenails had been intriguing me since I’ve been able to see color. I finally got a taste of it. Her toe fit snuggly in my tiny mouth. Quite salty, actually, but tastes better than Izzy’s shoes. I lean forward for another sample of the other toes, but Mommy flings her legs out of reach and shouts, “No biting toes, Dora!”
A big, sheepish smile runs across my face, showcasing my two front teeth.
Mommy scowls as she picks me up and squeezes me lovingly against her chest. Maybe she secretly likes her toes bitten…