The clash of swords and cries of “Ye olde vengeance!” fade into the soft cooing of nursery rhymes. Our angry eggs now find themselves in a pastel world of rattles, bibs, and suspiciously soggy storybooks. Still scowling, they crawl through playpens like knights in plush armor, duel with teething rings, and scream with fury every time someone tries to burp them. The yolk must go on… in the baffling land of Babies.
The clash of swords and cries of “Ye olde vengeance!” fade into the soft cooing of nursery rhymes. Our angry eggs now find themselves in a pastel world of rattles, bibs, and suspiciously soggy storybooks. Still scowling, they crawl through playpens like knights in plush armor, duel with teething rings, and scream with fury every time someone tries to burp them. The yolk must go on… in the baffling land of Babies.