Your grandmother, punkin, who loves you very much, has asked me about these photos in which you appear to be caged like some wild animal.
Let's be perfectly frank about this. Your "baby cage" (or playpen, as some would have it) is a perfectly designed environment for your enjoyment. It's been crafted so as to keep the kid in and the dogs out. It's full to bursting with your favourite games and toys, and is safe enough for you to play, jump, bounce, crawl and eat in.
It should be stated that the discolouration present on your lower limbs (carefully disguised by use of black and white on the previous photo) is not a trick of the light, but the remains of your lunch.
Would it be so, punkin, that all people got to have an escape such as this. A place that was all theirs, to do with as they would, where nothing could intrude, full of their favourite things. I know that mine would be chockablock with electronic equipment (although it should be said that yours is no slouch in the beeping flashing lights department) and books, and probably have a halfway decent cellar.
Certainly it would be hard to get me out of it.
Love you.
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