(almost) Losing Mr. Lovey

Sometimes it feels like Turtle’s Mr. Lovey is my third child. I’m always keeping an eye out for him, and I wouldn’t dare leave the house without him. I bathe him several times a week. I’m embarrassed when other people notice that he’s particularly stinky or dirty. It ruffles my feathers when Twin Daddy calls him “it” as in “Are you looking for your lovey, Turtle? Here it is.” Mr. Lovey is a he, thank you very much.

Mr. Lovey is also my back-up, my buddy, my helper. When Turtle has a particularly nasty ouchy, I may be her first line of comfort, but her recovery is not complete until we go find Mr. Lovey. She snatches him into her arms, twirls him around a bit, and then sticks him in her mouth. As soon as we get in the car, she whines until I deliver Mr. Lovey, and then she happily (and quietly) chews on him until we reach our destination. He is all she needs to go right to sleep. Mr. Lovey is a miracle worker, and I don’t think I could parent both girls at home alone without his help.

When it’s time for Turtle to give him up, I plan to give him the best bath I can and then seal him in a plastic bag, saving him to comfort me some day when my little Turtle Maria grows up and moves away.

I didn’t realize how attached I was to Mr. Lovey until last Friday. We came home after a frazzled afternoon – I had taken Turtle (with Monkey in tow) to the pediatrician for conjunctivitis and an ear infection, then to H.E.B. to get the antibiotic prescription filled. Turtle was miserable, sagging over the seat of the “car” double cart with her pink watery eyes and runny nose. Monkey was making me miserable, whining non-stop the entire twenty minutes in the store, hating being strapped into the cart, then whining the whole way home, hating being strapped into her car seat. Minutes after we got home, I realized Mr. Lovey was nowhere to be found. Not in Turtle’s car seat, not on the floorboard, not in the stroller. She was whining for him and for the first time ever, I couldn’t find him.

I immediately thought we left him in the cart at the H.E.B. I called the store but he hadn’t been turned in to Lost and Found, so the minute Twin Daddy got home I rushed out the door and drove like a maniac back to H.E.B. I checked all around the parking lot, and then walked up and down every aisle. I accosted every parent in the store with a car double cart, but none of them had found a yellow duck lovey the size of a washcloth. I imagined my poor, sick Turtle crying herself to sleep that night because Mr. Lovey wasn’t there, and my eyes filled with tears. I checked the parking lot one more time but it was no use.

I cried the whole way home. It was too undignified an ending for Mr. Lovey - dropped in a parking lot, to be run over by strangers who had no idea what a loyal friend Mr. Lovey has been, through vomit and snot and poop and so many tears. And it was much too soon for poor Turtle, who was in no way ready to let him go.

I pulled into the garage and opened up the Saturn once more, determined that he must be in there, he simply could not be lost. I pulled out the stroller, shook it out, began opening pouches I never use, and . . . I found him! Relief washed over me, then I burst into tears again. I pulled Mr. Lovey to my face and basked in his stinkiness. I ran into the house, a triumphant, blubbering mess. Turtle smiled and put her arms out for her old friend, then pulled him close and started chewing on his ear. I put her in my lap and buried my face in her neck, trying to get a hold of myself. Twin Daddy patted me on the back and didn’t say a word, but I’m sure he was thinking, “I wonder where Monkey gets all her theatrics?”

And so Mr. Lovey was safe, and I vowed that he would never leave Turtle’s car seat unless we were at home. I am in no way ready to let him go.