Too much excitement just might kill me!
You have an adorable little boy, rapidly closing in on 2, who has never shown interest in a stuffed toy in his life.
One fine morning, after dumping the neglected crate of furry animals all over the floor and completing the requisite anatomical inspections (Eyes? Check! Nose? Check! Tail? Check!) a special few are selected for ceremonial procession from room to room to room.
Then Grandma makes an early visit, and upon being enlisted to be beanie Spot’s personal slave, she casually suggests that perhaps Spot is hungry and may wish to partake of a meal from the comfort of the highchair.
The wonder of pretending is revealed, and the majority of the day is henceforth dedicated to feeding the toys (only genuine raisin toast will do), putting them to bed (complete with story, tucking of the blanket and goodnight kisses, but wherein, like the child himself, they stay only momentarily), taking them to the toilet, and helping them to wash dishes and cook eggs.
And the following morning the fun starts up again. Spot took a dive into the toilet while relieving himself and had his initiation trip through the washing machine, and at nap time the toys all required Mummy’s milk to help them sleep.
What the hell just happened??