Wiggle room

Babygirl got her first-ever Easter basket last weekend. That was pretty cool.

Even cooler was the "Best of the Wiggles" DVD nestled in the fake plastic grass along with some baby treats, pull-apart eggs filled with toonies, and a selection of tasty chocolates that Daddy is munching on even as he writes this.

Yep, I'm a Wiggles fan. Have been for years, ever since my nine-year-old nephew Tyler was a toddler. (The Australian quartet has been together for an astonishing 20 years, longer than the Beatles and the Monkees combined.) I like their funny-looking Aussie faces. I like their Star Trek-ish shirts. I like it that one of them, red-shirted Murray, plays a guitar in most of their videos. But most of all, I like their little tunes, as fiendishly catchy as they are kid-friendly. And I hope little Emilie will too. A kid could do a lot worse. (I'm thinking of a certain bottom-heavy purple dinosaur whose name will go unmentioned.)

So far, it's looking like she's shaping up to be a Wiggles groupie. We played her three of the quartet's greatest hits yesterday, and she favoured us with happy squeals and knee-bendy dance moves from her standing position on the ottoman near the TV.

We haven't checked out the whole disc yet, but I fervently hope one clip is on it: an amped-up techno remix featuring marionette Wiggles grinning insanely and flailing around against a swirling psychedelic background. Babygirl will either love this, or she'll need years of psychotherapy to recover from it.