Ball.

My son bit me. And left a mark. In the middle of a toy store. With people watching. And probably judging. All because of a ball. Or something that looked like a ball. That wasn’t really a ball. $30 for a breakable pseudo-ball. That my son wanted to bounce. On the hardwood floor. Of that ridiculous toy store, with no rubber balls.

In other news, my son learned how to say “ball.”

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