There’s nothing Edith loves so much as a tag. If I give her any kind of stuffed toy or pillow she is moderately interested until she finds the tag. Then she’s rabid for it. We do a lot of crawling around on blankets here, and the day the blanket’s tag is discovered is always the best day. Today Edith was flailing around in my lap (she is teething and so especially aggressionate, which is what I call her especially aggressive brand of affection) and she suddenly found a tag on my dress, and the earth stopped: she looked at the tag and the tag looked at her, and I got out of the way.
People get annoyed when you compare babies to puppies, but they’re really the same in so many ways, and this is yet another one. I’ve never met a baby mammal that didn’t wild out over a good tag. Say what you will about modernity but back before the mass production of textiles, there were millennia of baby animals of all kinds who didn’t even know the joy that was absent from their lives.
Accismus 