Kidlet has, as most kidlets do, a coterie of stuffed animals and loveys. They range from the enormous pillow pet we were obligated to get him because by the time I was able to pry him away from it he'd already soaked it in drool, to the little tiny ornamental loveys that came with the pregnant-lady swag box that I got from the midwife. But there are 4 that he's emotionally invested in to the point that it might be "love", and one more so than any of the others.
It is not, oddly, the Original Lovey, the LubWubs, as it is called. It's a little, white sheet with a bunny head at one corner, sweet and innocent enough. This was the one lovey I started giving to him at around 6 months as a sleep cue, the one that he takes to bed and nuzzles at night. It is a source of comfort--or rather, it was, until my husband forgot to bring it back from an overnight stay with a friend (and yes, I am laying the blame squarely on the poor man, as I was at home sick for the entire time). But luckily it seems to have been more of a habit at this point than a true need; since he got back bedtimes haven't been all that much different.
Nor is it the monkey pillow pet, of the aforementioned drooling episode. And it's not the misnamed Panda, either--a toy leopard with deformed, enormous eyes. We called it Fugly for a while, but he insisted that its name was Panda, and as with all things thus named by kidlet, its name is now Panda.
No, The One, the Only, the True Toy of the kidlet, is the ugliest teddy bear I have ever had the shame of buying. It has no nose. Texture-wise, it's hard and bristly, and there's a cold metal chain around its neck. It's not soft. And did I mention it's ugly? I bought it at the thrift store, against all of my personal rules about buying stuffed things at thrift stores, because when he saw it, he wanted it, and had an all-out tantrum when I told him "no". You might think it was bad parenting for me to give in, but you have to keep in mind that this kidlet almost never has a tantrum. He gets whiny and cries for stuff, sure, but tantrums of the epic, fists-to-the-floor level that supposedly mark the Terrible Twos are almost unheard of. (Before you get too jealous, though, let me assure you, he is plenty terrible, but in other ways)
This itchy, scratchy, bristly, hard, vaguely-stinky teddy bear is what he asks for before he goes to bed, even when we still had LubWubs. It is what gets dragged around our apartment during the day. It is the one that he tries to "potty train" and the one that gets to "eat" dinner. It is the one that he occasionally tries to "dress" with varying degrees of success, the one that comes with him when he comes into our bed in the middle of the night.
I wish I could understand why, of all the stuffed animals he has, he's chosen to give his affection to the one toy that neither my husband nor I can stand. I wish I could understand why, of all the stuffed animals in the thrift store, he chose that one--and why, of all the things he could have asked for, he insisted on getting it.
I suppose there is a moral in here somewhere about not getting invested too much in what your kids' toys are, or maybe the lesson is not to spend too much money on your kids' toys because they'll invariably fall in love with the cheapest, most God-awful things. Or maybe there's a moral in here about letting kids be kids and letting them pick and choose which toys make them happy, even if you can't stand them. And I suppose, if you want to read a lesson into this and pick and choose a moral, you could.
But I prefer to think that this is what the magic of childhood is all about: doing things that your parents just don't understand, according to a logic that makes sense in your own little world where bedtimes are always a little too early and everybody always wants you to take nap even though you're not tired. In a world where you have so little control over what goes on in your life, having a little something all to yourself must be precious.
It is not, oddly, the Original Lovey, the LubWubs, as it is called. It's a little, white sheet with a bunny head at one corner, sweet and innocent enough. This was the one lovey I started giving to him at around 6 months as a sleep cue, the one that he takes to bed and nuzzles at night. It is a source of comfort--or rather, it was, until my husband forgot to bring it back from an overnight stay with a friend (and yes, I am laying the blame squarely on the poor man, as I was at home sick for the entire time). But luckily it seems to have been more of a habit at this point than a true need; since he got back bedtimes haven't been all that much different.
Nor is it the monkey pillow pet, of the aforementioned drooling episode. And it's not the misnamed Panda, either--a toy leopard with deformed, enormous eyes. We called it Fugly for a while, but he insisted that its name was Panda, and as with all things thus named by kidlet, its name is now Panda.
No, The One, the Only, the True Toy of the kidlet, is the ugliest teddy bear I have ever had the shame of buying. It has no nose. Texture-wise, it's hard and bristly, and there's a cold metal chain around its neck. It's not soft. And did I mention it's ugly? I bought it at the thrift store, against all of my personal rules about buying stuffed things at thrift stores, because when he saw it, he wanted it, and had an all-out tantrum when I told him "no". You might think it was bad parenting for me to give in, but you have to keep in mind that this kidlet almost never has a tantrum. He gets whiny and cries for stuff, sure, but tantrums of the epic, fists-to-the-floor level that supposedly mark the Terrible Twos are almost unheard of. (Before you get too jealous, though, let me assure you, he is plenty terrible, but in other ways)
This itchy, scratchy, bristly, hard, vaguely-stinky teddy bear is what he asks for before he goes to bed, even when we still had LubWubs. It is what gets dragged around our apartment during the day. It is the one that he tries to "potty train" and the one that gets to "eat" dinner. It is the one that he occasionally tries to "dress" with varying degrees of success, the one that comes with him when he comes into our bed in the middle of the night.
I wish I could understand why, of all the stuffed animals he has, he's chosen to give his affection to the one toy that neither my husband nor I can stand. I wish I could understand why, of all the stuffed animals in the thrift store, he chose that one--and why, of all the things he could have asked for, he insisted on getting it.
I suppose there is a moral in here somewhere about not getting invested too much in what your kids' toys are, or maybe the lesson is not to spend too much money on your kids' toys because they'll invariably fall in love with the cheapest, most God-awful things. Or maybe there's a moral in here about letting kids be kids and letting them pick and choose which toys make them happy, even if you can't stand them. And I suppose, if you want to read a lesson into this and pick and choose a moral, you could.
But I prefer to think that this is what the magic of childhood is all about: doing things that your parents just don't understand, according to a logic that makes sense in your own little world where bedtimes are always a little too early and everybody always wants you to take nap even though you're not tired. In a world where you have so little control over what goes on in your life, having a little something all to yourself must be precious.
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