I always thought it was the cutest thing when kids toted their "loveys" from place to place. When my two little bald-headed trouble makers were born, I was crossing my fingers that one of them would find the stuffed animal of their dreams.
So, I got "lucky." At about seven months, Corbin developed a deep, manly bond with a stuffed elephant (slightly ironic that my lean little man would love a stuffed image of the world's fattest land animal). And then reality set in. The grossness of a stuffed creature that is gnawed, spit up on, sneezed on, and snotted on day in and day out. The anxiousness of having to carve out an hour of my day once a week to wash Monsieur Elephant without Corbin realizing it. And the fear that haunts me at this moment . . . misplacing this smelly little monstrosity.
And now I sit. Staring at the Ebay page. My frugal, thrifty pride fights against the reality that a lost Mr. Elephant tragedy could have for our family. But pay $10 for a second Mr. Elephant? This stuffed little thing that I know was only a few dollars? My finger hesitates over the button.
I cave. Mr. Elephant II (or Dr. Elephant as we have decided to name him) will be arriving in 3-5 business days. And I give a sigh of relief. A future elephant-sized tragedy has been averted--peace on earth will continue.
Mr. Elephant's Christmas portrait:
It's hard to get a pic of Mr. Elephant where he doesn't look like a piece of mangled prey hanging from his predator's mouth.
