Raising Richmond: A dog named Bunn
My son JR never really had a “lovey” when he was tiny. All of his blankets and stuffed animals were interchangeable in his mind. In the rare event that an extra snuggle was needed (he’s just not a cuddler by nature), anything soft would do. But that all ended the day he notice Bunn.
My son JR never really had a “lovey” when he was tiny. All of his blankets and stuffed animals were interchangeable in his mind. In the event that an extra snuggle was needed, anything soft would do.
That all ended the day he noticed this guy:
This is Bunn. He is a dog. He is NOT a bunny. I know what you’re thinking: he could be considered a bunny, what with the floppy ears and generally bouncy appearance. But no. He is a dog who just happens to have a name reminiscent of the word “bunny.” Don’t try to understand it; just accept it. My husband and I finally have.
Bunn is a large Beanie Baby-ish type… creature. He was part of a flower-balloon-combo that some dear friends brought to me when I was in the hospital after JR was born. Bunn served as the weight that kept the balloon from bopping all over my recovery room. More than likely, he was a $3 impulse buy made at the cash register.
Today? If I had to choose one object to save from our house in the event of a fire, it would probably be him–in the interest of preserving my own sanity at the very least.
The odd thing is, JR didn’t give Bunn a second glance until about a year ago. Up until then, he sat unnoticed in JR’s room, hanging out in one of the toy bins or piled up with the legions of stuffed animals on the bed. Then suddenly, out of the blue, Bunn (we still don’t know where the name came from) was going everywhere with JR: to school, to church, to the store, and (most importantly) to bed. He’s with JR for most meals and is given a prime seat during any and all book readings and movie viewings. I don’t know when, how, or why it happened, but Bunn is, quite simply, the love of JR’s life.
It’s funny because I always assumed that a child’s attachment to a blanket, stuffed animal, or the like, would lessen as he got older, but it’s been exactly the opposite for JR. The baby who couldn’t have cared less about which blanket he clutched in his chubby little fingers has become a kid who WEEPS in the rare event that his favorite guy hasn’t made it into the car. The most recent gnashing-of-teeth went a little something like this:
“My Buuuuuuunn-Buuuuuuuunn!!! I neeeeeeeeed him. I forgot hiiiiiiim!!! I’m so sorry, Baby Bunn-Buuuuuuuuuuunn!!!!!!”
(And on and on until we turned the car around and went back home to save Bunn from his prison of soft blankets in JR’s bed.)
Sure, we live in constant fear that something will happen to Bunn. There have been a few heart-stopping moments when we thought he got dropped in the grocery store or left at the playground, never to be seen again. But I think JR needs him right now–and I do in a way, as well. Although the thought of my son growing up puts my heart in my throat, I think I’m a bit guilty of having tunnel vision when it comes to his development. I’m always super conscious of where he “should” be so he doesn’t end up falling behind one way or another. But when I look in the rear view mirror and see my child who is *this close* to outgrowing his car seat, cradling that filthy, thread-bare stuffed dog, I’m reminded of this odd place where he is right now: the tricky (and often heartbreaking) line between baby and boy. I’m reminded that he can be both–he should be both, as long as he can. And if Bunn needs to be along for the ride, then so be it. Even if it means I have to keep turning the car around to go get the damn thing.
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Valerie Catrow
Valerie Catrow is editor of RVAFamily, mother to a mop-topped first grader, and always really excited to go to bed.
Notice: Comments that are not conducive to an interesting and thoughtful conversation may be removed at the editor’s discretion.
I still have my favorite stuffed toy. He sleeps in my son’s crib. I never realized how much my toys meant to me until I saw Toy Story 3…and a week-long depression crushed me like a distracted Atlas.
Toy Story 3 has ruined everything — whenever I have to pack up some of his toys, I feel crushing guilt.
You should stock up on a few extra “Bunns” if you get the chance. Better safe than sorry.
26 here and still sleeping with the “blankie” I’ve had since day one.
Ms. Catrow: I’m an older father, now – approaching sixty. Your piece on “Bunn” brought me back to my younger days as a new dad. Then it was “magoo” – a dingy old blanket, my son loved, and “PeeBee” (a derivative of Petey the Panda), my young son’s most adored friend.
I am sure your older parent readers will nod knowingly, or wander back to past days – some days, your column tickles and some days, moisture comes to the eyes.
But, in ay case, please keep writing Raising Richmond, and long live Bunn!
Thank you so much for your kind words, Mr. Cushing! I appreciate them so much.
At 16, my daughter is still fond of her lovey. When I see her, looking every bit a woman, but sleeping with her blankie by her side, it just breaks my heart. They grow up in a blink, Val. Also, you said “damn” which earns you BFOD (Best Friend of the Day) status.
Great column.
My oldest has “Blue Bear.” He taught him math in stuffed animal school and wrote many journal entries about Blue Bear’s Birthday. I think Blue Bear must be about 100 years old in stuffed animal years, if his birthdays are any indication. He probably needed the math lessons just to keep count. Eric is 12 now, rapidly trying to become a teenager whether Mom’s ready or not…but if BB got lost I bet there would still be tears.
I still have my stuffed polar bear, ‘Panda’, who’s looking a little more grey then his hey-day.
I’m travelling in the UK for a year, and when I finally got through the airport, onto the plane, opened my bag for my ipod, my pillow and my panda…he was gone. I spent the next twenty six hours and three flights completely distraught, thinking I had dropped him in the airport and he was going to be lost forever. I called my Mum when I arrived safe and sound, and she gave me the good news – she found Panda on the way home from the airport, on the floor of her car. I’ve toyed with the idea of getting him mailed to me, but I’m terrified he’ll get lost in the post!!! One close call is enough for me!
This is going to sound ridiculous, but when our little dude was in the hospital (and so I was I for a while) after being born early, my arms just felt weird. Like I needed to be holding something but had nothing to hold. It’s apparently normal but it was awful.) So my hubs brought me my stuffed dog from childhood, the thing I took everywhere with me – to college even. And I slept with him and somehow it helped. At the age of 32. It’s the power of loveys.
As the mother of the author of this column, I seem to remember a stuffed “care” bear that went everywhere. It was just a $3 panel that I picked up at the fabric store and threw together when we didn’t have enough money to buy her a really nice gift. That thing was soooo loved, I had to take it apart and re-stuff it multiple times. What ever happened to that thing?