Something about an infant clutching a beloved stuffed animal friend does strange things to my face. It is almost as if it freezes into a joyful anguish. An OH-MY-GOD-THAT-IS-TOO-PRECIOUS anguish. When concerned bystanders intervene to kindly offer me a bulk fiber supplement (because I clearly have an impending medical condition) I just push them aside saying, “Look! How cuuuuute!”
So, when Elise was born, I immediately set out to find The Chosen One. On any given day, I’d lay three potential suitors in her crib. For her picking pleasure, this usually constituted a variety pack of something larger and mushy, a firm, smaller one, and a wild card.
Much to my delight, she attached to a mushy bear creature by about 8 months of age. Even more to my delight, said bear creature was a) machine washable, and b) purchased at Target where multiple body doubles lived. With time, mushy bear creature would require interventions in the washing machine to prevent public health outbreaks, each time redistributing his stuffing innards a little more wonkily. His festering funk would also stop responding to high laundry detergent concentration.
So, back to Target I’d go, picking up a new mushy bear creature, sometimes two at a time so I’d always have one in reserve.
I assumed stuffed animal mating season would be as successful with Luke.
But, Luke refuses to be forced into a relationship. Each time I strategically place a cute puppy or frog or bear into his crib, it is ejected unceremoniously out from where it came.
Of course, the other day, I find Luke cooing at The Llama. The Llama was a present from my husband’s work colleague… who lives in PERU. As in, not of this hemisphere. It is a hand-knitted blue stuffed llama (not machine-washable) with festive multi-colored threads coming out of its eyeballs (one of a kind). Did I mention this llama is from PERU?
Child, we don’t support imported love in this household.
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