Before my son Alex was born, one of the gifts I received at my shower was a little security blanket/lovey that had the head and upper paws of a bear and the body of a tony blanket. Just one. (The photo shows them back in the honeymoon phase, when Alex was about six months old.)
Fast-forward a few months, and as soon as my very young son started showing signs of attachment to said bear, my good friend Kelly told, “Get more. Immediately. As many as you can find.” See, her daughter Sophia had a lovely that she eventually called her “Tickle Bunny.” Well, Sophia only had one Tickle Bunny and as he aged, and began to show unpleasant signs of just how much he was loved (rather battered, stained and otherwise besmirched), my friend faced a challenge. Her daughter didn’t want to give Tickle Bunny up to let it go through the wash. Ever. So Kelly’s mom went on a veritable quest to find more of the lovey Bunny. Which, after going to extraordinary lengths that only a grandmother would endure, she did. But did Sophia receive the new bunnies with joyful appreciation? Heck no. She called them “Imposter Bunnies” and completely shunned them. Thus Kelly’s advice to immediately procure more cuddle bears. Which I did.
We have, to date, six Booboos (my son calls him “Booboo”), so I have extra for when I needed to throw them in the wash or in case I can’t find one or—as happens all too frequently now— for when Alex throws or drops Booboo— typically somewhere I can’t reach while driving. After several cataclysmic meltdowns over not being able to reach Booboo while I am maneuvering down the bloody highway in horrible commute traffic, rain and other chaos, I started keeping “an extra” in the car.
So the other day, our morning was going well. We had made it through the morning gauntlet and were in the car on the way to daycare and work. Then he asked, quite matter-of-factly, for Booboo. And it occurred to me. Out of six Booboos, guess how many I had in the car? Zero. Nil. None.
Not. A. Single. Blue. Bear.
Of course Alex started to melt down, big fat tears of dejected disbelief. Because hell hath no fury like a toddler who is not immediately presented with his lovey when he calls for it.
Miracle of miracles, I managed to cajole him out of it by putting on his Music Together CD , breaking my own rule of avoiding all kid music until I have had time to consume the requisite amounts of coffee because I JUST CANNOT TAKE IT first thing in the morning … but it was either that or watch as he morphed into the hysterically screaming tantrum child. So I faced the music.
Jessica is a single mom who is willing to buy any gently used Gerber blue fuzzy cuddle bears with the word “cute” and a dinosaur on the front that you might be willing to part with.