Sunday, April 19, 2009

Overstuffed...part 1.

In the beginning, there was Clown, given to my unborn son Paul on that Christmas Eve, two months before his arrival. A gift, from my sister, his future Aunt, for her future nephew to look at from the confines of his crib?
Or maybe once in a while to cuddle...
Little did she know, Clown would one day go on to be the favorite playmate of a small boy, newly born, already creeping to the head of his crib, to be found with the foot of this bedfriend in his mouth, that very first time up from his very first nap in his new home.
My son Paul has been on the move since the day he was born. From the very beginning, he was able to creep around in his crib, never one to stay still under his covers.
Since his Aunt Linda had kept a nearly-identical clown for her own unborn son, due four months later than Paul, placing it on the shelf in his room ~ and most likely never letting him play with it, let alone, sleep every night with it by his pillow, holding the handy foot (bet you can't guess which one), mostly chewing it to bits, shredding its outfit, loving it to near-death.
Not so with my Paul. My son had an understanding with his own highly-favored Clown, from the very first moment of acquaintance. And that friendship lasted (and grew daily) for years, until the day he moved out to his own house, preparing to marry his Kristy. For many years, of course, it sat on a special shelf in his room after he had long outgrown that small boy stage, but always under his watchful eye, nonetheless.
Clown, as of the day he left, has been lovingly put away by me, his sentimental mother...safely tucked away until they move into their permanent abode, in a couple of years, so he can finally be put in a safe resting place, never to be moved again.
You see, when Paul was little, he carried Clown all over the place ~ mostly keeping it in the house, thank goodness ~ but a couple of times actually braving it out in the big world.
Which really made me nervous...
Since I had spent many hours searching garbage pails, basement laundry baskets, car back seats, my little boy could sleep at night, I had no way to relax unless Clown was in the crib, or at least in his room.
Now, there he sits, in his hiding place, known only to yours truly, until he is once again reunited with his Paul, bringing to a happy conclusion that joyful and lifelong friendship that only a small boy and his Clown can share.

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