Milk Storage Sensory Bags

At some wee hour of the night while I was awake with the baby (your guess is as good as mine) I thought to make her some sensory bags to play with as we practice sitting up. By some magic stroke of genius I then thought, “HOT DAMN! … I could probably whittle down some of this milk storage bag collection still lurking around the kitchen.” So, here we are. This is a complicated one, folks, (sorry, Felicia <3) so prepare yourselves…

I started off by gathering up some supplies – milk storage bags, and some stuff to put in them. I told you it was gonna be rough. The “stuff” I decided on for the two bags I planned to make was some glitter of varying colors and shapes, and some weird thrifted yarn from approximately 37 years ago, that I’ve done almost nothing with despite refusing to let it go. What can I say, y’all? #sparksjoy

Hiding at the bottom of this catch all for weird shit vintage Miracle Whip jar was a scrap cake of various yarns and threads left over from past projects, (again, why are these things I keep?) just waiting for a new shot at life. What better way to introduce V to the fabulous world of textile art than chopping it to bits and letting her smoosh away to her heart’s content? I decided to toss in some of this awesome neon orange too, just to be extra. This is where my tendency to careen straight down the rabbit hole (Do not pass GO. Do not collect $200…) comes in… I started thinking about these scraps and the long-forgotten projects they’d come from. Who even was I in those times, and what if I’d known then that their destiny was to be covered in goo, made into playthings for a sweet little brown-haired beeb I could not yet imagine existing? Something slightly less mystical told me to keep (::cough::hoard::cough::) them. Life, you crazy.

After round one, here’s what we were working with. They say you’re supposed to use hair gel as a vehicle for the smooshing, but I got me a pomade man, and there was no gel to be found. You don’t have to be a girl scout longer than one year (apparently) to know how to improvise. I found this face wash I’d put in the shower, let’s just say 37 years ago (my poor husband) and knew it would be missed by exactly no one. Business time. (Pay no attention to the certainly, very alive air plant in my laundry room.)

Again, very alive. Nothing to see here; moving on…

Right about now I realized the bathroom garbage needed to go out, and for once did the honors. The joy of finding the new bag to be the last we had also led to the above discovery. Does anyone actually use these twist ties for ants? I certainly ain’t got time for that. Instead of going to their usual retirement home of the recycle bin, another one of my crazy ideas hit, and you heard it here first; A THIRD BAG was born! Yes indeedy, I must have gotten an extra forty-five seconds of sleep last night because I was on a roll.

Pumped in what seemed to be the right amount of face wash, leaving the twist ties dry, and sealed those puppies up! We probably could have done without the “foaming” nature of the wash, but hopefully I’ve still got a few years months before my child starts scarring from all the horrible things I do.

Slapped some duct tape over the bag tops to seal them extra, then some more tape to stick them to the wall in prime sittin’ zone. I knew they’d probably need to be taped at the bottom as well, since anything V can grab wants to go straight in the mouth, and that impossibility would piss her clean off, but first wanted to see if she even liked them. Cuteness beginning in 3… 2…1…

I always think she looks like a Garbage Pail Kid with her hair like this. You’re welcome for that.

About to be v mad… V MAD. Told ya so.

SUCCESS! So, I’ll definitely be taping the bottoms as well so she can moosh and smoosh without that little vein popping out of her forehead as she tries in vain to pry them off the wall and into her mouth, but overall, 10/10 would make again. Also, this is the first time she’s really sat up on her own for more than a few seconds, and that was the goal, so I’ll be waiting for my mom trophy in the mail. That’s how this thing works, right?