Baby Taylor Outing Accident

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The morning sun bathed the backyard in golden light as Taylor tightened their shoelaces, exchanging a grin with Tom. Their moms unfolded lawn chairs nearby, thermoses in hand—close enough to watch, far enough to grant the illusion of independence. A chalk-drawn obstacle course snaked across the patio first: hopscotch squares merged into spinning challenges, then a dizzy sprint toward the oak tree. Laughter erupted when Tom tripped over his own feet mid-spin, grass stains blooming on his knees. The swing set creaked rhythmically as Taylor pumped higher, toes brushing leaves, while Tom lobbed pebbles into a painted bucket below. Moms intervened only for the water balloon rematch, alliances shifting—kids versus parents, then siblings turned rivals. By afternoon, kite strings tangled in the breeze as a dragon and a hawk dipped overhead. Tom’s crashed into hydrangeas twice; Taylor’s soared until the spool emptied, a speck against cotton clouds. Juice boxes and peanut butter sandwiches vanished between games, dusk arriving too soon with fireflies and promises of *five more minutes*.

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