Baby Love

As if his newly pulled front tooth weren’t proof enough of his waning childhood, Scotty recently suggested I get a box to put Bear in. While heartbreaking, this suggestion was both practical and considerate. Bear—the recipient of all of Scotty’s baby love—has spent the past several weeks under the bed, like the Velveteen Rabbit.

Bear was a gift for me from Wade’s charming and greatly missed Aunt Althea. He came in a Valentine gift set from Bath and Body Works, complete with pink wings and a bow. When Scotty was about four months old, I clipped Bear’s feminine trappings and set him in front of Scotty, along with a blanket and a puppy dog. No pressure, but I wanted Scotty to choose his childhood companion. He reached out for Bear and never let him go.

Bear helped Scotty learn to climb the grand staircase at Scott and Suzi’s, enticing him upward a few steps at a time. He came with us to Thailand, up and down the aisles of the EVA aircraft that was my 16-hour purgatory. He sacrificed the fur on his left paw to offer Scotty hours of comfort during naps, after bonks, and through countless showings of Winnie-the-Pooh. He waited for days behind the TV while neither Scotty nor I could sleep in his absence. I prayed, and we found him.

Wade and I have known this day was coming. We even argued about who would get to keep Bear when Scotty was done with him. Wade envisioned him on the shelf in his office, while for a few compulsive moments I saw him on my bedside table. So instead I will tuck him in a box, just like the saleslady offered to do for Corduroy, and store him safely in Scotty’s closet. Bear doesn’t belong to Wade or to me, and he didn’t really get all of Scotty’s baby love. We did.

What holds the baby love in your life?