Thursday, 15 July 2010
Pink and white striped with long, thin un-cow-like appendages he saved the day after we lost Jim-B in the depths of Glendurgan while in Cornwall. LLC enjoyed gnawing on Moo Cow. She loved him bouncing on her belly. He accompanied us on all outings (my cardinal error) and even his little squeak was fairly un-offensive.
I know exactly when he went missing. I took LLC on a walk in her stroller and Moo Cow was tucked under her arm when I shut the front door but nowhere to be found when we arrived home an hour later. My heart sunk in my chest; I felt truly gutted. It will be alright, I told smiling LLC. We’ll find Moo Cow.
So I did what any logical-minded parent would do when their child’s comfort toy goes missing. (Never mind that she doesn’t yet understand that he’d gone missing.) I re-walked our hour-long route. I was convinced we’d find Moo Cow lying at the roadside, or propped up on a garden wall by a kind passer-by. I was positive we would not arrive home empty handed.
I was wrong. Moo Cow is no more. I walked the exact same route for goodness sake. He couldn’t have disappeared into thin air. We did pass a few schools on our route; would another parent have possibly let their child take home an arbitrary cow from the gutter?
So my plan is now to order another Moo Cow from the Jelly Cat website. LLC will never know the difference and fortunately she’s too young to know he’s missing. No, I’m not re-ordering Moo Cow for my sake, honestly….
Has anyone else gotten strangely attached to their child’s toys?
Once kids know their favorite toy is missing things must get much more tearful and complicated. For this reason I’ve been told to have a back-up copy the favorite stuffed animal at the ready. This would have worked a treat for me in this moment.