Stuffed, Part 2: A Study in Anthropomorphism

Let me introduce you to some members of my immediate family. From L-R, we have:

1) Morgan the bear, named after the youngest son of a dear old friend. Morgan used to be the favored companion of my sweet daughter until his position was usurped sometime during high school by a now-mangy monkey known variously as Gottlieb, Hiccup, or more often – Monkey. Poor faithful Morgan – I couldn’t tolerate the idea of him being cast aside in favor of another species, so I invited him to take refuge in my room.

2) Sammy the snowman, a gift one Christmas to my daughter. Sammy joined Morgan and loved him as a brother but alas, he met a similar fate when my daughter decided she only had eyes for a monkey. Not wanting to separate brothers – and having become a rabid fan of all things snowman – Sammy was also welcomed in to my space.

3) Smiley face, a Christmas stocking gift to me from my thoughtful daughter – who knew I had a “thing” for smiley faces back in the sixties. Smiley doesn’t take up much room.

4) Ladybug is the newest member of the family. My mother liked ladybugs. Buying ladybug items was one of the ways we healed ourselves after she died. Ladybug stays no matter what.

5) Next we have Alex and Jordan, the polar twins. Or it could be Jordan and Alex, I can’t tell them apart. Alex was my daughter’s first Gund – she fell in love with him in a toy store on vacation in Williamsburg, VA, at about age 8, and despite the fact that Alex cost way more than I ever should have afforded at that time in my life, she found him under the tree the following Christmas. Alex was also discarded when a certain monkey came to live with us.  Jordan, named for the third son of the same dear old friend noted above, was a gift to me from my daughter two years after Alex joined the family. She wanted me to have something soft and cuddly at night. No smart remarks, please. 

6) Finally, meet Sick Bunny.  That’s not her birth name but I don’t remember what that was. Sick Bunny is dressed in a cabbage patch doll outfit. She is so-named because when my daughter was young and would get sick, I didn’t want her getting germs all over her regulars.  So Sick Bunny was appointed to be the designated hitter during times of illness.  My daughter long ago left Sick Bunny in the dust. But I could not bear to do the same…. Sick Bunny had been there when she was needed, how could I throw her away?   

All these family members reside on a sofa in my bedroom. I don’t use the sofa any longer  for sitting (myself) – many years ago (like 23) it was a gift from loving relatives when I had no money for furniture.  I frequently lament the amount of space it is taking up in my room – space that could be put to good use – or, here’s a novel idea – space that could just be space. Said sofa’s sole purpose in life is to provide a home for the above-described motley “family” – a family I have long been convinced has real feelings. I’ve never said this aloud before but I think maybe the sky would grow dark and lightning might strike me down should I ever deign to… um… dispose of these bodies.  

For I remember how Morgan and Alex wept when Monkey moved in to their turf. “Mommy doesn’t love me anymore,” I would make one, then the other of them wail and kick their little feet in a tantrum, much to the delight of my child. “I still love you,” she would assure them but as night fell, it would be Monkey that she reached for.   

I exhaust myself, I really do. Part of me knows that some of this craziness is likely due to “first, but not last-born neurosis” [a.k.a. Wasn’t I good enough?] Most of my life, I have been able to avoid confronting this tenacious inability to let things go because I was willing to move over and have every square inch of my living space filled. But now I’m not. I’m tired of being a slave to my possessions. More than that, I’m tired of dusting them.  Or thinking I should dust them.

I’m going to get past this. I know this because I’ve come a long way.  For years I could not discard a printed photograph, no matter how fuzzy the picture, how unattractive the pose, or that it existed in triplicate. The photo had FEELINGS, as did the person who was its subject. I tried to pass this neurosis on to my progeny, but luckily, she knew in her soul that this was nutty. And now, I too can discard a photo without feeling twenty twinges of guilt for murder.  

So –my furry friends’ days just may be numbered.

But the Ladybug stays…..

And Smiley face doesn’t take up much room…..

and Jordan’s fur is very warm when I’m cold…..