A thin line between lovey and hate

Cary and Dean both have the most adorable loveys.

My friend Sumathi sent them these comfort-toys when they were born and I melted when I saw them. They were soooo cute. A puppy for Dean; a monkey for Cary. I imagined my boys snuggling with their loveys at night, loving them sweetly, and learning about affection all the while.

For a long time, they both ignored their loveys, or found them tolerable but not necessary.
And then, they grew to enjoy their loveys very much.

Lester and I found that it is a wonderful thing to have something soft and cute and harmless to give them when an irrational meltdown has ensued after bathtime.

But lately -- I'd say in the past month or so -- Dean has really become attached to Lovey the Puppy. It has become like a street drug to him. He needs it! He must have it!! GIVE PUPPY TO ME!!! OR ELSE!!

It wasn't always this way. Puppy used to live in his crib, where Dean would happily snuggle him at night. In the mornings, when lifting him out of the crib, we'd tell him "Put Puppy on the pillow. Puppy has to stay in the bed. Night-night, Puppy." And he'd comply, no problemo.

Then, it got to the point where both boys insisted on carrying their loveys around in the morning, while Lester and I got ready for work, or piddled around upstairs on the weekends, before heading down to the kitchen for the boys' morning oatmeal. But even then, when it was time to go downstairs, we would tell both boys, "OK, put Puppy and Monkey back in the bed. It's time for them to go night-night." And they'd comply, no problemo.

Sometime in the last month or so, Dean started resisting putting Puppy back in the bed before heading downstairs in the mornings. He'd cry and protest and throw tantrums. Oh, just give it to him, one of us would say to the other. Who cares? What's the harm?

So Puppy would find his way downstairs, and Dean would carry him off and on, sometimes tossing him aside for something more interesting, but usually finding him again throughout the day.

We managed to get Puppy back in the crib for naps -- where he'd stay until bedtime. That lasted a week or so.

But then, more meltdowns. Bigger, longer-lasting tantrums. Puppy needed to be with him at all times, in the mornings, after naps, while having a diaper change. Dean must. have. Puppy.

Before we knew it, prying Puppy from him at mealtimes became a major fight. Eventually, it became a fight we lost. Puppy stayed in the highchair, and got smeared with spaghetti sauce and cracker crumbs and sticky, fruit-covered handprints.

No amount of distraction or even SNACKS (his favorite thing) worked to keep his mind off his need for Puppy. His eyes darted around, wild and wide. I swear one night the boy got the must-have-Puppy-shakes!

Dean, my abusive-boyfriend-crackhead son. Sigh. Where have we gone wrong?

This weekend, Lester and I hit the Puppy wall.

After dinner, Lester takes the boys for their baths, while I clean up the wreckage in the kitchen and dining room and pick up the toys.

Usually, the soundtrack from upstairs is of laughing, splashing babies. On this night, the house was filled with Dean's piercing, desperate, gut-wrenching wailing.

He wanted Puppy in the tub with him, and no amount of explaining could deter him.
(Yes, we tried to explain to the 17-month-old that Puppy can't get wet. Yes, we know this is ridiculous. But my child is an addict!! I was out of ideas!!)

Lester steeled himself and went on with the washing, trying to sing, play and cajole Dean out of screaming with silly faces and requests (Hey, Dean! Wash Daddy's face!) Still, he cried. He cried continuously throughout the entire bathtime. He cried when Lester took him out of the bath. He cried all the way until Lester put him in his crib, where he found his fix, lying innocently on the pillow. Then, he sniffled and snuggled until lights out.

This, my friends, was the Puppy wall.

We don't know how Dean's Puppy love turned so wrong. But we have decided on an intervention.

No matter how much our little addict cries, Puppy must live in the crib. He can come out in the mornings, for as long as it takes for us to move the party to the first floor. But Puppy is not allowed downstairs, no matter what.

No more highchairs. No more bathtimes-turned-screamfests. Puppy, for the most part, is confined to the crib.



So far, there have been tears-o-plenty. And wailing. My Dean is a VERY determined baby. And when that jones comes down, it is not pretty. But we have stood firm.

And I hope and pray this will get easier.

Night-night, Puppy. Night-night.