
A Waldorf School Fantasy…
Before I gave birth the first time, I had visions of a nursery filled with toys that were exclusively produced in Europe (preferably by hand) with nary a Fisher-Price label in sight. I pictured blocks made of unfinished hunks of oak, sheepskins for “activity mats,” faceless woolen gnomes, chunky beeswax crayons, and perhaps a wooden rocking horse and a miniature red wagon for when my young Waldorfian reached his toddler years.

And a Playskool Reality…
Fast forward a year or so and our living room was brimming with beeping, flashing, talking plastic, most of which glistened with saliva from frequent visits to Felix’s curious mouth. While the majority of these eyesores were gifts, I’ll admit to buying more than a few battery-operated plastic diversions, generally with high hopes that they would entertain Felix long enough for me to pluck my eyebrows.
At this point, with Felix now 7 years old and Wolfie almost 3.5, I have admitted defeat in this battle–Legos, Transformers, Playmobile–there is more plastic in the boys’ room than there is air.
So while I’ve strayed pretty far from my prenatal principles in some ways, I did remain vigilant about the safety of those toys meant specifically for chewing: namely, teething toys. (I realize that some might call this a silly distinction. Even when he wasn’t cutting any teeth, Felix had a major oral fixation—an unsurprising fact considering I’m one of those people whose desk is littered with masticated pens, some of which may or may not be leaking more saliva than Sophie the Giraffe…but enough about me).