29 Jan Tales of a Toy Boy: Why My Five-Year-Old Can’t Commit to One Bedtime Favourite
Kate Gorringe-Smith is concerned at the fickle focus of her son’s night-time nuzzling.
I was dizzy with the sudden increase in pace of my son’s relationships, and concerned as to what, if anything, to say. Was it right to just let him churn through bedfellows like this?
My son is a serial monogamist. I suppose I should be glad he’s not promiscuous, but I am afraid that we may already have a commitment-phobe on our hands. And he’s only five.
From Sweetie-Pie to Platty: The First Great Loves
His first love was Sweetie-Pie. I loved Sweetie-Pie too. I approved of the match wholeheartedly. He was a cheeky little lion, bought by my godparents when we named our son Daniel. Early on, Daniel added a rakish pair of thick, black-texta eyebrows to Sweetie-Pie’s already rather quizzical gaze, giving him an endearing, perpetually surprised look. Sweetie-Pie went everywhere with us and spent every night snuggled with Daniel… until we lost him. I have no idea how or where, but that was the end of that.
We mourned Sweetie-Pie for a while, until my son took up with one of his elder sister’s cuddly toys, an unnamed platypus. Daniel called him Platty, and he was instated as the favoured squeeze of an evening. One of my finer mothering moments occurred when we received an urgent call from the babysitter asking if we had any idea where Platty was, and I was able to tell her exactly where (on the floor in front of the heater, hidden by the clothes on the clothes horse). Noting the whereabouts of the night-time fave is a mothering skill you quickly learn to hone.
When New Toys Arrive, Old Favourites Fall Fast
Platty stayed in favour until Daniel received a beautiful and very cuddly Tasmanian devil for his birthday. My heart could only bleed for the faithful little beady-eyed one who now lay abandoned in favour of the more exotic Tassie – but even I could appreciate Tassie’s more opulent appeal. Sadly however, Tassie’s place in the sun was soon eclipsed. Journeying relatives brought home a plush hammerhead shark. Poor Tassie. There was no transition period. One moment he was guarding the PJs, the next he wasn’t.
But Hammy’s reign was even shorter. Within weeks of his arrival, we holidayed in Sydney and bought a stuffed penguin at the aquarium. Hammy went home ignominiously zipped into the suitcase while Pengie marvelled at cloud formations from the plane window. I was dizzy with the sudden increase in pace of my son’s relationships, and concerned as to what, if anything, to say. Was it right to just let him churn through bedfellows like this? Should we sit down and discuss their merits, what he wants from a relationship, where this could all end? Meanwhile, the end of Daniel’s bed was becoming a sorry gathering of discarded favourites.
The Day a Plastic Card Replaced Every Cuddly Toy
Then came the neopet. What is a neopet? I have no idea. The neopet came home from a birthday party. It was a small, yellow furry thing with big eyes. Daniel’s first blonde. It smugly ousted Pengie, knowing that its flashy good looks and mysterious identity set it apart from previous stuffed stalwarts. I hated it. It was trashy and, well, common. But the worst was yet to come.
Weeks later, the entire array of stuffed animals suffered the cruellest blow yet. At a local school fete, my daughter scored a dozen or so Digimon cards. These are small plastic cards, depicting bizarre imaginary creatures, that fold at a right angle so the thing can, in a sense, be played with. She graciously shared them with Daniel, who took to one called DeviDemimon (or DemiDevimon, or something). Now I don’t really know what these things are and as far as I know my children have never seen them in action on telly or read about them, but for whatever reason, Neo got the piff. DeviDemimon – a small, plastic and essentially two-dimensional character – was in. Keeping track of the thing so that it’s ready for bedtime is a nightmare. It’s so damn small. And almost see-through.
I feel I should say something in Pengie’s, or Tassie’s, or even Neo’s defence, but I know you can’t meddle in your child’s relationships. Maybe I’m misjudging them. Maybe I should look below the surface and get to know the inner-toy. Or maybe I should just lobby for an imaginary friend.
Main Image Illustration: Ron Monnier
