My Child’s Attachment to Her Lovey Scares Me
What if her stuffed bear gets lost?
They never told me you were supposed to get an extra – they being The Experienced Mothers, the ones who insisted I needed a Maclaren stroller and made sure I knew about the healing powers of cabbage leaves and Aquaphor. They didn’t mention this extra business until years later, when they heard that my 3-year-old daughter was bringing her teddy bear, Bearie, on a family camping trip from which he might never return.
“You must have a second bear,” the Experienced Mothers then said. “Just in case.” Just in case the first Bearie got dragged through poison ivy or got caught by the current of the Shenandoah River, just in case he was carried off by a real bear, along with the hot dogs and s’mores.
Having a back-up bear had never occurred to me.
“Is there a second Lambie?” I asked one of the moms.
“Yes.”
“Another Sparkles?” I asked another.
“Of course.”
Bearie was the only one without a double, a doppelganger who spent his life in the closet behind the clean sheets, waiting for the moment when he would be called forward to assume the life of the original, should the original meet an early demise.
“See Magoo?” my friend Alison whispered, nodding her head toward a fish bowl. The blue beta nibbled at a piece of seaweed, then spat it out like a wad of spent chewing tobacco. “That’s Magoo the second.”
“But you didn’t tell me,” I said. “Nobody told me!”
“Oh,” she said. “I thought we had.”
I had to remedy this maternal failing – and quick. Bearie, you see, was no longer pristine. He had a dollop of fire-engine-red paint on his left armpit. When I found Bearie No. 2, I would need to paint his left armpit, too. I would also need to leave him on the floor when the washing machine overflowed and put his face in a bowl of milky cereal one morning.
I started scanning stores for a small, oatmeal-colored bear with a sweet face and black eyes. There wasn’t one. I called my dad who had given Bearie to my daughter as a gift, only to learn he’d been a last-minute purchase at a Cracker Barrel somewhere along I-95.
Lucky for me, my mother-in-law often traveled I-95. A doting grandmother, she stopped every time she saw a Cracker Barrel. Still no Bearie.
My daughter, meanwhile, continued bringing the original Bearie, the only Bearie, to the grocery store, the bagel shop, and to preschool. Then, one October day when I unloaded her backpack, all I found was a paper plate decorated with orange paint and pumpkin seeds.
“Sweetheart,” I said. “Where’s Bearie?”
She shrieked, a long, end-of-the-world shriek. We hurried back to school where we found Bearie perched on a windowsill with that sweet, perpetually lost look on his fuzzy face. We strapped him in and drove home.
But we were going to have to do something to cut our risks. What if it had been a Friday and Bearie was lost to us for a whole weekend? What if another child had decided to take him home for a permanent visit?
“But Bearie has to come to school,” my daughter said. “He misses me.”
“I’m sure he does,” I said. “But maybe he should stay here with your other animals. He could go to school on your bed.”
She looked skeptical.
“We could take his picture,” I said. “And put it in a wallet. I carry your picture in my wallet, so I can see you when you’re not with me.”
My daughter had been through my wallet a thousand times, but we opened it up so she could see the pictures again: a shot of her on the day she got new glasses, a picture of her brother packed in a suitcase, a photo of the two of them wearing underwear and capes.
“Okay,” she said. “We can take a picture.”
We took two. One close-up of Bearie alone. The other of Bearie in my daughter’s arms. In that one, she is deadly serious. “This is how you hold him,” she explained.
I put the photos in an old wallet and handed it to her. One of our problems was solved. But if Bearie was safe during school hours, he was still at risk when he attended family gatherings, went hiking, or shopped for peanut butter.
I studied Bearie’s label, which was almost too worn to read: AnimalAdventure. The Internet led me to Hopkins, Minnesota. (As my daughter is the only one who’s ever heard Bearie speak, I’d never picked up on his Midwestern accent.) I dialed the company and spoke to a nice woman named Emily.
“Help,” I said.
I explained the situation and sent her an e-mail with Bearie’s picture. The next day, I got an e-mail back.
“I found your bear,” she said. “Almost.”
The bear Emily found looked like the real Bearie, only he was a little smaller and his nose was black instead of brown.
I could pull out the stitching and redo the nose, I reasoned, but I wouldn’t be able to stretch six inches. My daughter would know.
“Call us back in a few months,” Emily offered. “Maybe we’ll make him again.”
I thanked her and told her I would. Meanwhile, every time I passed a toy store, I checked for a bearie – just in case.
Then, in the winter, my father-in-law died suddenly of a heart attack. My mother-in-law called from the hospital, barely believing he was gone.
Bearie came with us to the funeral home, shepherding my daughter through her first exposure to death.
The next time my mother-in-law came to visit, she was, of course, alone. The message seemed clear: there was not a second Grandpa Mike, stowed behind the sheets.
A few months after the funeral, I was shopping for tablecloths when I came across a bear that looked almost like Bearie. This one was about the same size with the same close-set eyes, oatmeal-colored fur and gingham ribbon around his neck. His nose was black instead of brown, but I remembered I could give him a nose job.
I lifted him off the shelf and held him a minute. He smelled of flowers and tea. I squeezed him. And then?
I put him back.
I arranged him sitting upright, with his paw propped up in a wave, so some other little girl would be sure to notice him. There was only one Bearie and, for today at least, I knew where he was: home, waiting patiently for 8 o’clock when my daughter would come to bed.
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Awesome, I am glad that although you preserve your daughter’s innocence you still want her to live in a real world where bad things happen. She will learn to find comfort on herself not a bear.
Ok, I REALLY don’t get the “dragging the lovey everywhere” thing. Both my kids often ask to take a favorite toy out of the house. I say no, some things are too important to risk losing. Of course they whine and haggle, but I remain firm. (kids are 2 and nearly 6,) Why do they have to take them? I’m not saying it’s bad, I just feel like it’s a lot of hassle that easily avoided. Can someone explain this to me? I’ve also posted this on FB, because I’m genuinely curious, just FYI.
I tried to get an extra for my son’s “happy bear”. He knew the difference– he called the 2nd one “spare bear”.
desirerich, I was wondering if kids would know the difference. You know they are pretty smart and I am sure one the reasons why they are attached to those stuffed animals is because of the way they feel and smell.
When I realized that the little green elephant was going to be The One, I did try to find another. We went to every Target in town and found that he’d been discontinued and wasn’t available. And after two years of abuse, when his nose fell off, I replaced it with a carefully sewn chunk of green washcloth. Then I warned her that he couldn’t get a new nose again and when nose #2 failed, Ellie went “to the elephant hospital”. Forever. There was sniffling for a few days, and we reminded her why Ellie was gone and told her that we couldn’t visit. Within a short time, she’d picked a previously neglected tiger as her new lovey. I’m hoping that Tiger survives her lovey phase, but if he doesn’t, she seems resilient enough to pick someone else.
Our son has a ‘lambie’ and it was first purchased at a discount store which, as we all know, carries things that have been discontinued. Luckily, it was made by Gund and I was able to find many on Ebay. If one small thing gives my son comfort when he’s tired, traveling/out of sorts or scared, I certainly don’t mind bringing it with us.
Our Irreplaceable One goes by the name Snores On. He was a $5 after thought picked up during a shopping trip at Kohl’s, and I can’t find a replacement anywhere. As a result, Snores On leaves the house only for doctors visits and portrait sessions. Snoresie may come with us on vacation, but once there MAY NOT leave the camper or hotel room. God help us all if he were ever to get lost.
I think the problem is you never know what your kids will get attached too it sort of just happens so what are you supposed to buy 2 of every animal they own… no way….My son’s lovey also known as teddy is irreplacable in his eyes i remember it was christmas night after a busy day of going places we forgot teddy at grandma’s house that night was one of the worst nights ever he was not quite 1 1/2 and is an awesome sleeper he woke like every hour even sleeping in my arms didn’t work we vowed after that to find a 2nd teddy of course like numerous others have said there was none to be found it was discountinued we did finally find it online but my son knows instantly nothing replaces the real teddy we have had some close calls to losing him but so far my son and teddy are going on 5years and teddy has had multiple surgeries to be resitched but he is still around….I love that he has something that can still comfort him but now he has a little sister and i’m wondering should i give her lovey or not….
I agree with Jessica – how can one predict what will become the favourite toy? Our eldest’s favourite is Schmusebär, bought on impulse at the Oxford Street Disney Store in London. He was 10 months old at the time, and it wasn’t for another half a year or so until it became clear that Schmusie was his bestest friend. I’ve never been able to find another; even the Disney Stores on this side of the pond have never seen this toy. It’s like we got the only one that ever existed. For #2, I bought a toy in Germany. There are ties on it (to tie up the blanket part), which I used to secure it to the stroller’s harness. Also, the company which made it has a replacement guarantee, so if we do lose it, we can contact them for a second. Which is good, since we paid 40 Euros for it! But since the baby is still only 8 months old, there’s no guarantee that he’ll chose this lion toy as his best friend…
My youngest sister had “Squeaky Dog” who did indeed have a replacement (a VERY luck garage sale find)… when Squeaky Dog became too old and was falling apart, he went to a “stuffed animal restoration center” and came back as his replacement. My sister (who was maybe 4 at the time) was very impressed at the work done by the restoration center… she didn’t even know there was a 2nd Squeaky Dog until she was at least in middle school.
Myself on the other hand, I had “Raccoony”, who was lost on a trip to visit family (and had no replacement) when I was maybe 8ish. It was devastating, yes, and I do still wonder what exactly happened to him, but life goes on… even without Raccoony.
I agree with Jessica that you never know what your kids will become attached to. Bearie didn’t hit No. 1 status for a number of months. (And a confession: In spite of everything, in spite of my real-world feelings, I confess there’s a squirrel named Nutty that I miss from childhood and I have been known to scan ebay for him some late evenings…)
True story: no one told us either, but bizarrely we received a duplicate to our daughter’s highly random yet beloved purple rhino (aka “P.R.”) as a gift from my in-laws’ neighbor for her first 1st birthday. The enthusiasm with which we received this gift must have pegged us as loonies because they had never seen the original P.R. and had no idea that we had been searching unsuccessfully for its surprisingly-hard-to-come-by doppelganger for the better part of our daughter’s first year.
Honestly, I’ve never met anyone who had duplicate toys waiting in the wings, so I don’t think there is some rule you missed. My daughter loves a pink bunny she’s had since she was a baby, and it would be impossible to replace because it has been loved into a limp grey version of its former plump fluffy self. The rule is she leaves it at home, and if we’re going on a long ride and she’d like to snuggle it she can, but it stays in the car when we get where we’re going. I do live in dread that she loses it one day, but loving anything means accepting the dread of loss. That’s life. We just do the best we can with what we’ve got and hug the pink bunnies while they’re here.
My mom sent my beloved Raggedy Andy doll off for “skin graft” operations after he disintegrated in the washing machine. I still have Andy II…and I’m 34. So when my kid adopted a stuffed alligator, I got extras. He teethed on the alligators’ tails, so it was also a matter of sanitation–I could wash them and still have something handy when the howling began. Son is nearly 3 now and the alligators are a permanent fixture in our house. He knows there are 4 alligators, but as far as I can tell, he treats them all with the exact same devotion. (We lost a gator in Target a while back, and he was bereft. Apparently everyone knows about the alligators, because the next time I went to Target, the minute I walked in the door, one of the employees said they’d found the alligator and were holding it for us! How sweet!)