Monkey Si, Monkey Deux
Remember Monkey? Yes, Monkey — with a capital M. Remember him? Well then, here’s a briefing: Monkey is Boo’s best bud. He’s stuffed, cute, and made from organic materials. Boo doesn’t sleep without Monkey and recently, he’s been asking for Monkey in the car, which sounds like DeeDee! DeeDee! because, of course, my one-year-old can’t say Monkey. On occasion, he manages Mogoo! He’s smart ‘n’ all, but that’d be Mensa material right there.
With all the love Monkey has received, he’s, uh, not looking his best. He’s been around the block a few times (literally) and made more than his share of trips to the washer and dryer. Sadly, he’s also missing part of his mouth. Boo bites Monkey’s face, so he’s to blame for the disfigurement. Let me just come right out and say that Monkey is not a pretty little dude. Loved, but not pretty. This is what he looked like before my son’s adoration:
So I did the unthinkable. I called in a rookie — Monkey Deux. For a “meager” $25, I purchased a sub for my son’s bff. Does that make me a bad person? And for real, why couldn’t I have gotten him attached to a lovie or something? What was I thinking with my noble, organic intentions?!
So far, so good. Boo isn’t on to us. I suspect his head will spin and his eyes pop out cartoon-style when he discovers our shenanigans.
Recently a friend suggested we get a third Monkey just in case. Oh dear. How long will the madness continue? I thought she was a little on the crazy side until one fateful night.
Monkey Si was chillin’ in the hamper and Monkey Deux was doing his best pinch hitting. Boo woke up for his most obnoxious middle of the night bottle (yeah, I’ll save that for another day). For some reason I can’t remember now, I had to take Boo with me into the kitchen and he insisted on bringing his dear friend. Well, dear friend landed in the sink. And lucky me, we hadn’t cleaned it out from dinner. So there was Monkey Deux, leg immersed in a pot of I-don’t-want-to-know-what. And I just shook my head and thought You should get a third. Dammit.
While Boo drank his milk like he’d never tasted the likes of such liquid joy in his life, I did my best to administer a little Monkey first aid with a baby wipe. Pathetic. Nasty, nasty, nasty. But my hand was forced. It was either that or put Boo back to bed without his buddy, and I’d have paid the price for that.
Still, I’ve yet to invest (and yes, it is an investment at $25 a pop) in number three. Instead, I’ve tried to be really, really, really good at making sure whoever’s on deck waits pristinely hidden in a closet. Besides, if I were to splurge for a third, whatever would I call him?