You read that right. My four-and-a-half-year-old child has an addiction.
And it's serious.
We're not talking about a need-a-fix-every-now-and-then craving; this is a can't-live-without-it, major-withdrawal-inducing, can't-eat-can't-sleep obsession. I should probably be spending my time planning an intervention instead of writing this post.
Want to meet the object of her addiction?
Yup, my girlie can't live without this pink, rabbit-headed square of blanket that we all affectionately call Lovey.
Here she is when she first fell for Lovey's satin-bordered snuggliness.
Her addiction is my fault. I know we often try to blame our mamas for our deep-seated issues, but this one really is on me. When Li'l Miss was about five months old, I read an article that said something like this, "Babies who develop an attachment to a comfort object are more likely to bond with their parents, sleep well at night, attend an Ivy League school, get an advanced degree, stay married, avoid jail, and contribute to the good of humanity." (New mamas, beware of articles like this one. They will give you nervous twitches and panic attacks.)
I was a first-time mom, still completely freaked out about this enormous responsibility called motherhood. I had my nurse friends on speed dial, and I was taking notebooks full lists of questions to my pediatrician at every check-up. I read this article and was instantly convinced that my sweet, tiny, comfort-object-less baby girl was headed straight for the principal's office (and a life of crime after that).
Thankfully one of my students had given Li'l Miss an adorable pink rabbit/blanket at one of my baby showers. (I was an elementary teacher for five years before I got the priceless blessing of becoming a full-time mommy.) I whipped out the little rabbit, steeled myself against my steadfast conviction not to put anything other than a sheet into my baby's crib, and gave Li'l Miss her first taste of Lovey.
The rest is history. I oh-so quickly learned that the author of the aforementioned article completely neglected to mention the fact that the parents of the children involved in the study had to pry their child's comfort object out of his/her clenched fist as he/she headed off to Harvard or Stanford or Yale.
I'm 100% sure I will be doing exactly that.
Li'l Miss can't sleep without Lovey. This means if there's any chance that we'll be out past bedtime, we'd better bring Lovey along. If Lovey needs a bath (a.k.a. a spin in the washing machine), it has to happen during waking hours only...and is very likely to happen with a certain little lady's face pressed against the lid of the washing machine. Li'l Miss has gone to sleep more than once with a slightly-damp Lovey snagged from the dryer. (She also may or may not have gone to sleep with a slightly-damp Lovey rescued from the potty right before naptime. Don't judge. We're talking no Lovey = No naptime.)
Thankfully, four years later, I'm getting a little bit better at giving myself grace as a parent - something I really couldn't wrap my mind around on that long-ago day when I just knew that my Li'l Miss wasn't going to make it in this world without a comfort object. I'm a teeny bit less OCD, not quite so paranoid, and daily working to love my children with open hands. Most of the time I'm able to say, "My four year old has a rabbit-headed blanket attached to her wrist. So what? It will fall apart before she starts high school. (I hope!)"
And, now that I'm a parent again, I can avoid making the same mistakes twice.
