Puppy Love

I don't know what makes a child gravitate towards a specific comfort item, but I do know that the love is specific and deep. Robby had Black Bear. He adored that raggety bear, carrying it around with him everywhere. He slept on Black Bear until he was well into Elementary school, at which point his beloved friend was retired to the bookcase and his assorted stuffed turtles filled the vacancy. 

Timmy adores his blue Puppy Blanket.  He spied Puppy in a bin of old blankets leftover from Robby's childhood.  When Timmy was one year old,  he latched onto the blue plush blanket (with a puppy head and paws sewn on) and they quickly became inseparable. Reminiscent of Linus with his blanket, Timmy always has Puppy within reach when we are inside. If Timmy had his druthers, Puppy would play outside and accompany him everywhere. However, I'm a mean Momom and stick fast to the "no Puppy outside" rule.  

Sneaking Puppy away from Timmy for occasional, yet much needed, runs through the washer has become a full blown stealth mission.  If he sees Puppy in the laundry basket he begins to fret and a meltdown is never far behind. I try to avoid washing Puppy, but yesterday he was pungent from a nighttime diaper failure and the run through the washer could not be delayed.  

As Timmy was busy watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and eating cheese balls, I sneaked Puppy into a box and managed to get him to the washing machine undetected.  After he was washed and while Timmy was busy playing with his trains, I put Puppy into the dryer. I felt pathetically relieved that I had escaped the Puppy needs a bath drama.

Unfortunately I wasn't in the clear. When I retrieved Puppy from the dryer, I was horrified to discover that he had become decapitated while tumbling. I began to panic, fearing Timmy's reaction to seeing his beloved companion in pieces. I grabbed a spool of thread, stuffed the blanket and head up my shirt and ran into the bathroom.  

As I was sitting on the toilet, frantically conducting reattachment surgery on a blanket, I felt like I had reached a whole new level of motherhood: A stage in which I lived in fear of my toddler seeing his comfort item in pieces. I was hoping that I would be able to repair Puppy to the point where the surgery was undetectable, not because I want to keep the blanket pristine but because I wanted to avoid the heartbreak that would ensue. I was working with the diligence of a college student drafting a final essay, concentrating and trying to beat the clock. Only this time the clock wasn't the due date but rather Timmy realizing that I was in the bathroom. In both situations, the stakes were high.

I'm happy to report that Puppy has been repaired and is currently back in the clutches of his not-so-gentle handler. I'm just hoping that his head stays attached until I can fix him properly with my sewing machine. Of course, that is going to take Scott's cooperation to get Timmy out of the house (and preferably the zip code).  He melts down when Puppy goes into the washer, I can't imagine the drama that would occur if he saw him put under the fast moving needle of my sewing machine.