Three Times Betrayed
Felix and I had a tough 24 hour period over the weekend. Oh, it began innocently enough. His hair had gotten too long in the front, and his "bangs" were getting in his eyes and his food, so after his bath on Sunday night, I gave them a trim. They came out.. shall we just say, "Less than professionally?" Betrayal number one. Fairly low on the scale of offenses.
Monday afternoon. Snowed in. Doing laundry. Felix is watching me from the safe side of the gate. He's chatting away. We're playing peekaboo around the corner. I switch the laundry, and go back to the gate. He reaches up for me, smiling, letting go of the gate to stand on his own (which he can not only do, but can sit down from when he loses his balance. As I'm coming through and reaching down to pick him up, his smile falters and he starts to fall. He doesn't bend, and before I can catch him, he falls, straight as a board to the floor, arms still outstretched. Head to the ceramic tile. Betrayal number two. Not my fault, technically, but he was very sad. The smile, the reaching arms. It shouldn't have ended in tears.
Monday evening, his sheets were looking dingey, so I threw the whole lot of bedclothes into the laundry. Including his blanket. His blue plush blanket with the satin edges. His lovey. I washed it, and I washed the smell right out of it. When I gave it back to him before bedtime, he put his face to it three times in three places, looked up at me, shook his head no, and threw it on the ground. I killed his lovey. Betrayal number three. A doozy.
I was swamped by guilt. Later, getting ready for bed myself, I considered sneaking into his room, borrowing the blanket, and sleeping with it myself, like I did when he was tiny, to reimprint some of the smell. Mark thought I was maybe crazy. He was maybe right. Felix has since renewed his bond with the blanket, and it currently sucking on it in his sleep, imparting that nasty stale saliva smell that so many children find comforting when faced with the world.
Rationally, I know I should wash the blanket periodically. The next time I consider it, however, I may have to cold water wash it with no soap, and air dry it, to preserve the stank. I am maybe crazy, but even a hard-hearted, battle-worn nanny still has a squashy maternal heart about things like loveys.
Monday afternoon. Snowed in. Doing laundry. Felix is watching me from the safe side of the gate. He's chatting away. We're playing peekaboo around the corner. I switch the laundry, and go back to the gate. He reaches up for me, smiling, letting go of the gate to stand on his own (which he can not only do, but can sit down from when he loses his balance. As I'm coming through and reaching down to pick him up, his smile falters and he starts to fall. He doesn't bend, and before I can catch him, he falls, straight as a board to the floor, arms still outstretched. Head to the ceramic tile. Betrayal number two. Not my fault, technically, but he was very sad. The smile, the reaching arms. It shouldn't have ended in tears.
Monday evening, his sheets were looking dingey, so I threw the whole lot of bedclothes into the laundry. Including his blanket. His blue plush blanket with the satin edges. His lovey. I washed it, and I washed the smell right out of it. When I gave it back to him before bedtime, he put his face to it three times in three places, looked up at me, shook his head no, and threw it on the ground. I killed his lovey. Betrayal number three. A doozy.
I was swamped by guilt. Later, getting ready for bed myself, I considered sneaking into his room, borrowing the blanket, and sleeping with it myself, like I did when he was tiny, to reimprint some of the smell. Mark thought I was maybe crazy. He was maybe right. Felix has since renewed his bond with the blanket, and it currently sucking on it in his sleep, imparting that nasty stale saliva smell that so many children find comforting when faced with the world.
Rationally, I know I should wash the blanket periodically. The next time I consider it, however, I may have to cold water wash it with no soap, and air dry it, to preserve the stank. I am maybe crazy, but even a hard-hearted, battle-worn nanny still has a squashy maternal heart about things like loveys.
Labels: Baby on Board
posted by Cameron | 9:14 AM
6 Comments:
when i was really little, my mom threw away my lovey. she claimed it was ruined in the wash. i was devastated.
My Dad snowblowed mine.
gav's horton -- the one you bought him -- lives in my sock drawer now. g asks for a visit with him now and then, and curls up with him on the floor like a toddler. but he's no longer permitted to suck on the ears. (growing up sucks.)
i always felt like a neglectful mom for not washing horton more often. he stunk and was usually wet and slimy around the ears. i s'pose when it comes to lovies, mommies really can't win.
Poor Felix. What's the world coming to when your lovey loses its comforting smell?!! My ex husband's mother threw out his lovey and told him they'd left it on the train. He was shocked when she told him this in his thirties!!! Some things are sacred. :) samm
A mutual friend, Sarah over at Sports, Music, and Life, sent me the link to this post. I had a similar experience with my oldest son's blanket.
http://fourthrow.blogspot.com/2007/03/from-hero-to-zero.html
I feel your pain.
cheers,
scott
My friend Scott killed his son's lovey too, I think he said he was going to comment on your post. He microwaved it! I'm sure I will do something just as aweful to Ethan's too (when he decides to have one.)
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