Lovie

My daughter has taken a lovie. Meet Monkey.

We saw him in a store on Sunday and when baby girl made her signature monkey sound/sign (ooh-ooh-ooh while scratching the top of her head), our hearts melted and he came home with us. She's never had a lovie before. Never been so attached to something that it's all she can think of. I figured this would be another one of "those" toys--the kind she shows brief interest in when it's in front of her but passes out of her mind as soon as she looks away.

Not Monkey. He hasn't left her since we first introduced them in the store.

She hugs him.

She kisses him.

She feeds him her breakfast before she's even taken a single bite herself.

She talks to him and laughs as if he's just told her the funniest joke. She's in love.

Sunday night rolled around. It was DH's turn to put her to bed. He asked what we should do with Monkey that night, and I shrugged. I mean, other kids sleep with favorite stuffed animals or blankets, right? Just because our daughter never has doesn't mean she shouldn't, right? Right? I wasn't fully convinced with my own attempt at rationalizing the situation, so I merely shrugged and left it up to him. I heard a brief cry from her bedroom, and then silence. He emerged. Monkey had not gone to bed with her. Their parting was the cry I had heard. But then she was fine. She went right to sleep as always.

In truth, I felt relieved. Satisfied. She was the girl I had known this whole time, my brave, independent, confident, comfortable girl who didn't need anything to go to sleep.

When I went to get her in the morning, she saw Monkey waiting for her on the changing table, grabbed him to her, and they were reunited.

Monkey didn't go to school with her, but she asked for him when she got home and they spent the evening together. She cried when Monkey couldn't take a bath with her. As soon as she was out, she was asking for him, saying, "Monk? Monk?" with her sweet raised eyebrows, saying "ooh-ooh-ooh?" while scratching her head. Insistent. Pleading. Sweet. I tried to sing her lullabyes and distract her, but her voice got louder, thinking I just hadn't heard. The softie in me prevailed and I gave her Monkey back for some pre-bed snuggles. She smiled her sunny smile at me and said, "tank oo!"

Monkey read bedtime stories with us. And I just couldn't bear to take him out of her tight embrace. The rationalizing came back. Other kids sleep with stuffed animals. She's nearly 16 months old. Old enough to pick what she wants. To develop preferences. I rocked her and kissed her goodnight, and Monkey went to bed with her.

For the first time in her life, she slept with something in her crib.

I was in a funk all evening. I couldn't put a finger on it, but I felt guilty at my decision to let her sleep with Monkey. She had never needed something to go to sleep before. She could sleep anywhere. She could be put to bed by anyone. She had never needed something to feel comfortable. Was I ruining a good thing? Was I enabling a dependency that would come back to bite us in the butt when we travel and forget Monkey, or when he's lost or dirty? I talked about it with TH and we agreed that we'd rather her just continue to be fine sleeping with nothing. He decided he was going to go in and get Monkey out of the crib.

We waited a couple of hours until she was very, very asleep, and then I watched on the monitor as he stood by her crib, his armed poised just above the dark shape that was Monkey. And then it pulled back. And then moments later, he was back in our room, telling me that he couldn't do it, that she was sleeping snuggled up to Monkey, one arm wrapped tightly around his neck, and that it was too cute to ruin.

So Monkey stayed in the crib with her. And I fretted once again about the decisions we make as parents. So far we'd done a pretty bang-up job of avoiding setting ourselves up for future problems, but I was afraid our good run may be coming to an end.

When I went in this morning, baby girl was still totally passed out. Monkey was in the other corner of the crib. I retrieved him and set him on the changing table to greet baby girl when she got up. I rubbed her back gently and woke her for the day, and the first thing she did, after stretching and whimpering and rubbing her eyes, was to sit up, scratch the top of her head, and say "ooh-ooh-ooh? Monk?"

I don't know what we'll do tonight. I don't know if this is a battle we will pick to fight. I love my good sleeper, my confident girl who has never needed anything at night to sleep soundly. But attachments to lovies are a part of childhood, and do I really want to deprive her of any meaningful, comforting relationship in her life?

I wish there were a set of directions for parenthood, a crystal ball or magic mirror I could look into and see the implications and ramifications of both options. I guess the best we can hope for as parents is not to screw our kids up too badly, and to make all our decisions based in love and hope that that is good enough.