I’m down with O.P.P. (Other People’s Playthings)

For the first five months of baby Gwen’s life, she had only two toys: One sectioned caterpillar which alternately jingled, squeaked and crinkled, and a butterfly which would serenade you with a lullaby every time you yanked a string dangling from its bottom. Neither was purchased by me.
On a holiday visit to New York City, however, Gwen’s luck changed when my friend bequeathed us a few of her son’s old playthings, including a squishy shape sorter, a mirrored rattling mobile and stacks of touch-and-feel books.
“My bay-buh’s gettin’ a Christmas,” I drawled, effecting an I-just-won-the-lotto hysteria. My friend laughed. But in truth, I felt shame.
Yes, I am cheap — so much so that I see potential taco filling in the mosaic of broccoli and avocado covering Gwen’s high chair. I am also space-deprived, sharing an 850-square foot apartment with the baby, a sports-equipment-collecting husband and a six-year-old who commands large brigades of Barbie dolls and inanimate pets.
Hence, the idea of a toy library, from which unpaid-for toys would visit — but not take up permanent residence in my home — seemed too utopianly perfect to be true. Even its E 53rd and 1/2 street number seemed to exist only in the wizarding realm of a Harry Potter book, or at least in my own clutter-fearing, bargain-obsessed mind.
But I found it, at the FamilyConnections “Family Place Library,” just off Airport Boulevard. For a $5 yearly donation, you can check out up to three toys for two weeks. And when they say, “three toys,” they often mean three bags of toys. My husband has joined too, so that means an abundance of xylophones, bead travelers, linking plastic teddy bear chains, mini maracas and even color-coded members of the food groups have taken turns crowding my apartment.
But at least my bay-buh’s gettin a Christmas every week.