Full disclosure as I write this post. I have hardly been out of the house in two weeks. There is a chance I’m losing my mind or the more probable cause that I’m being haunted by my daughter’s toy.
Imagine Chucky in the shape of an overpriced giraffe.
I remember registering for this toy when I was pregnant because it’s some kind of status symbol amongst infants everywhere. It is literally a plastic giraffe. It has two beady eyes and one big price tag—$30 for something that your kid chews on. Yet, I needed it and I know I’m not alone when I say it really is my daughter’s favorite toy. The little ears fit perfectly in her small mouth and it’s just light enough that her chubby fingers can grasp and carry it around.
We’ve had a horrible two weeks around here as chemotherapy is taking Joe’s body on a horrible ride through nausea, insomnia and severe dehydration. I begged him to let me take him to the hospital and I finally got home health to the house.
He’s been getting fluids everyday and is starting to perk up. He lost 10 pounds in a week, and though I wish I could say the same for myself, he can’t afford to lose anymore off of his already thin frame.
So in the midst of all that is going on, I really don’t know why Sophie the giraffe is the one that’s irking me.
I joined a workout class as an effort for a little “me time”. I love it. It’s one hour where my mind blanks out and forgets everything waiting for me outside the doors. That was of course, until Sophie showed up.
A room full of posh moms, all slicked in LuLu Lemon workout gear and leaving with their polished kids. Guess what those kids are holding on to as they leave the daycare room? Yep, Sophie the damn giraffe.
It took an hour to get a fussy little girl to bed the other night and after one man banding baby duties I was ready for bed. I was downstairs locking up and straightening up the living room, when I reached down to clean up the dog’s toys and there it was—- my $30 giraffe under Wrigley’s bed.
Apparently, the dog also has a taste for expensive things.
I sanitized and scrubbed the toy so it can go back to it’s rightful owner but now it’s a constant game of “who has Sophie”.
Joe left the house with me for the first time in 9 days for a quick trip to the grocery. He climbed in the passenger seat and pulled my new pal Sophie out of the cup holder beside me asking, “Why am I seeing this giraffe everywhere? It’s always looking at me. I go to the bathroom, there it is. Now it’s here in the car?”
I don’t even know what to tell him. These have been some hard, lonely days and I’ve somehow used this stupid toy as a major distraction. I find her on the floor and wonder just whose drool was last on it. I hide the giraffe in my diaper bag but somehow still find it under the dining room table next to a chewed up tennis ball.
What does it say about me that a plastic giraffe is making me crazier than a sick husband and a newborn? I guess, I haven’t totally lost myself? I can still let the little things get to me? I’m still human?
For a distraction in the middle of everything? I guess you could say it’s the best $30 ever spent.