...tattered scraps of blankets that smell like warm milk and maple syrup...overly rubbed bunny ears on a stuffed animal that lost half of its filling...maybe even a Wooby. ("And the next thing you know, you're strung out on bed spreads, Ken." Please do yourself a favor and watch Mr Mom.)
My boys have their own little pillow menageries of stuffed creatures, but they have never been the type to go postal if one goes missing at night. Miles had an affair with stuffed tiger named "Go-Go" for a spell, but lately he's been playing the field and doing some speed dating with his other inanimate bed friends.
Oh, I guess there were the few nights Felix insisted on sleeping with produce (predominately citrus fruits), but I think he read something about scurvy in one of his toddler books, freaked out, and then was experimenting with somnolence osmosis.
But now I can claim that Felix has (non-perishable) bedtime loveys!
These things go into bed with him every night. Something about a tractor scoop or poultry dewlap makes this kid feel safe. I am thinking it's the farming gene from the Deysher side of the family.
Oh, Fe. What else would I expect from a child who eats watermelon slabs on a fork while totally rocking a pink sweatband?
Poignant post-script: funny...this lovey obsession sprouted (farm pun intended) almost a year to the day Grandpop Paul Deysher died, and Gradmom Lila Deysher had her first posthumous birthday.
Sometimes...the universe just does things to make ya smile.