Don’t put it in your mouth! I said to myself.
My hands move closer to my lips. Are my hands disconnected from my brain? They are not listening to me.
Don’t do it! I concentrate my 6-month-old brain to set those hands down.
Mommy will be mad at you, don’t you dare! I scream internally.
The grip got tighter. Uh Oh, this is bad.
Mommy bolts from around the corner, snatching the black sneaker out of my hands. “No, Dora! Stop eating shoes,” she exclaimed.
I look at her, relieved. Crisis avoided… Nice save!
She picks me up and places me back on the mat full of toys, about 8 feet away from the shoe drawer. “Dora, stay here while I cook dinner, please,” as she puts a singing bunny in front of me. She walks back into the kitchen.
My arms and legs uncontrollably start crawling towards the shoe rack. Oh no! Not again!?
Izzy is cooking in her little kitchenette in the corner. “Wahh… Agh… Ahh,” I whimper for help. Can someone please stop my limbs? I like toes, not shoes.