It was bound to happen eventually.
I was doomed the moment his sister handed her mint condition stuffed animal to Mason that I knew I would eventually one day regret condoning the gift.
It was from his sister, the one whose name he could utter before "Ma-Ma". [Okay, so it was abbreviated, and simply is just "Dee". But regardless, Justine could give Mason a used Kleenex and he would probably sit it up on his dresser with other eclectic treasures.] And to my previous point it was his favorite animal: a monkey.
So it went, for the past nine months, his "comfort blanket" is his one and only monkey, so affectionately called Monkey. He's two and a half. Seriously, what would you expect? Before he decided on Monkey, it was "Ooooh oooh" in imitation of the animal's sound, then it moved up to "Mun" and now is officially Monkey. His fur is matted, with excessive saliva from Mason's eternally wet thumb he sucks, or it becomes his portable and reusable tissue. Most of all it is his go-to buddy.
He pretends with him, he tells me daily that "Monkey is funny, Mommy!" as he sits there playing with the animal beating itself in the head. I realize his sense of humor is sick, but his father is the type of person who will laugh until he's wheezing at the guy on "America's Funniest Home Videos" who just unexpectedly received a blow to the family jewels by his son aimlessly swinging the Louisville slugger intended for the pinata.
Oh well. So yes, Mason is attached to his Monkey and clings to him throughout most of the day. And in nine months Monkey hasn't been misplaced for more than five minutes. I remember my own animal as a child, my lambie [which by no means resembles anything close to a baaaa-ing creature]. It is so mangled and is probably crawling with some distant virus strain destined to sicken my family should I ever take it out of storage. [Lamb flu beware!] But this critter was lost on a weekly basis by yours truly, and to avoid that I've been pretty anal in where we keep Monkey to avoid heartbreak.
Lunch time arrives today. I am ready to kick up my feet, and I know the homestretch is in sight with the boys quickly approaching their afternoon snooze. I glance around quickly looking for his stuffed primate and fail to locate it. Our home is a rancher. It is 1500 square feet at best. The toddler duo are permitted to frolic in about half of that. Monkey is MIA. Emergency lock down.
When a screaming fit ensued after I put Mason in his crib without his BFF, I shut the door while he screamed "Monkey" repeatedly at the top of his lungs. I cursed at myself for being an unfit parent and continued looking under every cushion, behind every curtain, and even in the toilet. To no luck avail I looked outside too. Something clicked, and I realized that maybe it was left at Target this morning as I happily perused the isles in search of some gym duds to replace ones I currently wear that are nearly half my age. [Sick and yet also sad.] Worse than leaving him at Target certainly picked up by a monkeyknapper by this point, I recalled when I worked many moons ago I had a knack for leaving random items on the roof of my car when I loaded my gear in the mornings.
I had terrible visions of monkey's appendages being torn apart by the passing steady traffic beyond our driveway if I managed to leave him on the Jetta roof. I briefly contemplated scouring the road and digressed to going inside once more to look. Blasted scatterbrained mom!
Kicking myself in the ass the whole way into the house I envisioned some way of making it up to him. I didn't care about the cost... just to make up for my ill intentions in lieu of losing his best friend.
As I sulked into the house ready to scan Amazon for their monkey stock pile, I spotted his beloved in a glass cabinet where I store extra diapers.
Oh glory be, I never thought I'd be so happy to see that snot-ball of a primate in all my life, and if there were room to do cartwheels [and had he the know-how] Mason would have done five in a row when I brought that lil' bugger back into his arms.
BUT, I still plan to check out Amazon for the day I really do accidentally plunge the little furball into oncoming traffic.