Journal Excerpt

Her crib is a veritable menagerie, a shelter for any lost animal toy she can find. The owners of the place we’re temporarily renting from left not only their furniture, but about twenty species of stuffed dog, all of whom I’m happy to report have found a loving home. There is one dachshund that grossed me out because one of its eyeballs was hanging out (ironic, I know), so one night I secretly chucked it out of the crib. She saw it the next day wedged in the corner and pointed “go3 go2! Go3 go2!” until I picked it up. She insisted on holding it during our prayer-and-tucking-in time. Tonight she insisted on being carried upstairs to bed with a stuffed mouse that she calls “rabbit,” a stuffed dog that she calls “small dog” (it’s one of about four pugs but it is the smallest), and a rubber ducky. I’ve stopped trying to secretly “forget” one because ten minutes later, arms stuffed full already, she’ll ask for the one I tried to hide.

Sometimes it gets hard putting her-and-five-stuffed-animals to bed at the same time, besides the fact that there is almost no room left in the crib to put her down in, but I’m not complaining as they keep her amused in the mornings, allowing us to sleep in. Usually when I come in she’s put them all lined up around the edge of her crib and is sitting there talking to them.