Our children all have blankies, and those blankies are of our choosing. We chose small, mass produced items, then gave them to our kids as newborns every time they nursed. Before they were even six months old, our kids had attached firmly to these items. Zachary has Taggie and Benjamin has Giraffie. When I was pregnant with Lilah, Zachary decided he wanted to spend his allowance on a blankie for our new baby, and so Bunny entered our family.
Our children’s relationships with their blankies prove once and for all that arranged marriages can be highly successful.
Since we chose these blankies, we were able to ensure we have multiples. We carefully rotate those little lovies so that all copies are equally worn in.
Once, we had three Taggies, but Zachary left one in a Denny’s somewhere between Sequoia National Park and Los Angeles. Needless to say, we smartened up with the later children; we have four Giraffies and four Bunnies.
We have, on our bookshelf, a picture frame with three photos, one of each child around nine or so months old, sitting on the floor with a blankie in the mouth. Actually, Lilah’s blankie is next to her mouth and she is sucking her thumb. That’s just the nature of their relationship.
Unfortunately, we all know what happens to the best laid schemes of mice and men. Just when we thought we had figured this lovey thing all out, in strode Lucy, a furry, legless, dog-ish puppet. This brazen strumpet has caught Benjamin’s eye and stolen his heart.
To be fair, this is not really a love affair. Lucy is actually one of Benjamin’s myriad babies, and she is clearly his favorite child. This makes her technically my grand-puppet, so perhaps I ought not be calling her a strumpet.
For the last fortnight or so, Lucy has been front and center in Benjamin’s imaginative play. She accompanies him everywhere, he prepares special meals for her, and he worries about her food allergies. Once, he took her with him under his shirt into the powder room as he went to tinkle. From the kitchen I heard him crooning, “Oh, Lucy, you were borned. You really, really were borned!” Apparently, he had gone into labor in the half bathroom.
On Friday, I convinced him to leave Lucy home from school. I was afraid the preschool would start charging us another tuition if she participated in one more day of activities.
So, right, you know where this story is going, don’t you? You know about the bedtime searches with him calling “Lucy! Lucy, where are you?” as I frantically pull up sofa cushions and my husband rips open pillowcases. You know about the cries of victory when Lucy appears and the soft comforting noises he makes to her as he cuddles her up to bed.
And you know about tonight, when no one could find her.
Somewhere – out there – Lucy is waiting, waiting for her daddy, who went to bed heartbroken without his favorite baby. After he went to bed, I turned the house upside down, but there was no Lucy to be found. So, I ask you, send a bit of your positive energy toward that little legless puppet tonight, so that tomorrow my boy will have his baby back.
Either that, or send me another Lucy.