Confession time: I have committed the cardinal sin of birthday donations.
Several weeks ago, at Erma’s birthday party, we collected donations for the local Humane Society instead of birthday presents. It was, after all, a Scooby Doo (in the jungle) birthday party. Also, conveniently, the Humane Society is adjacent to the Children’s Museum, where we held the party.
The party went swimmingly. It was utter chaos, but the good kind of chaos in which nobody was lost, injured, or evicted. Sigourney partied right through her nap time. Incidentally, she had found a toddler-sized grocery cart and a pile of both grocery and non-grocery items with which to fill it.
At the end of the party, good-byes were said and jungle-themed tattoos were distributed. We piled up the presents for Scooby and walked them over to the Humane Society. Erma carried a bag of presents, Ben carried a bag of presents, and Sigourney carried exactly one present: a stuffed lion that she clutches in her hands and cannot be pried apart from her.
Little Sigourney has never been one to attach herself to a lovey (that’s what they are calling a security object these days). I know this, because I tried VERY HARD to get her attached to a dog with her name on it, a blanket, and a variety of other stuffed animals. Her security object is me.
How was this lion different from other loveys? I don’t know. Maybe just because Sigourney was exhausted and it brought her comfort. Maybe because it squeaks when you squish its tummy. Maybe she knew she would be able to embarrass me with it if the donator-friend ever came to our house and saw her cuddling with what was supposed to be a gift to the animal shelter.
Today Sigourney is 18 months old. She has a lovey. She snuggles with it every night. She loves it, loves it, loves it. It’s a dog toy that she stole from Scooby Doo. Don’t tell Maria!