My Life as a Stuffed Animal

December, 1996

Another Christmas, another teddy bear.

That's the way it went around here when our kids were little. No visit from Santa could be complete without some irresistible little stuffed bear or tiger or dinosaur.

Now that the kids have passed the age when their eyes light up at the sight of stuffed animals, I miss the fun of buying them. However, just because I no longer buy them doesn't mean I don't have any. Au contraire. I have closets full of lions and tigers and bears (oh my!). And no clue as to how to dispose of them.

I have given some away. Big huge bears from department stores which gave them away with every purchase. Screaming pink plush rabbits won at carnivals.

But it's funny how a memory can get tied up with an inanimate object, even one that's stuffed with all man-made fibers. I can't throw away my first baby's teddy bear, even though she never cared much for it. She chose a big black panther as her stuffed favorite.

And I could never throw away the stuffed puppy dog my mom bought for my youngest child, because I know it was one of the last things mom picked out herself, while she was still able to make choices.

Of course not every stuffed animal has a story. But the ones that do don't let you forget them.

My youngest daughter still has a favorite bear. He's been in the family longer than she has and his "fur" has lost that fluffy freshness. Any plush animal which has been sufficiently hugged, squeezed and dragged around eventually becomes a sort of uniform brownish mat. By the time a stuffed animal has lost its looks, however, looks no longer matter. Presence is everything.

My daughter's bear has a number of distinguishing characteristics, but one thing she likes best is that he has no mouth. This gives him a noncommittal expression that she finds soothing. All her other animals, she explains, are always smiling all the time, which really gets on her nerves after a while.

I know the feeling.

I never bonded with a stuffed animal as child. Somehow, I always preferred relationships in which the party of the second part could talk back. And, I had three younger brothers, who were cuter than teddy bears and more inventive.

However, a friend gave me a stuffed mascot when I was expecting my first child. Technically the fuzzy elephant was for the baby, but when it came time to go to the hospital I took my little stuffed friend along for moral support.

Fat lot of help he was. Still, he was there, at the moment when I first became a mother. I can't just pitch him out.

But, I won't be buying any stuffed animals this year.

I don't need any.

My nose is stuffed. My ears are stuffed. My head is stuffed.

I am a stuffed animal.

For the last few weeks, as germs percolated through the schools, I hoped I would slide through the sniffle season with my usual carefree oblivion. But I guess everyone has to accept a fair share of this stuff, and believe me, I am stuffed.

Tissue boxes tower by my bedside. I live on Advil, antibiotics and Chapstick. Someday, I believe, Chapstick will be illegal, once its sinister addictive properties are investigated. If I go fifteen minutes without a fresh coat my lips start to crack and peel.

Being sick can be a lonely business, but not for me. Before I came down with bronchitis my youngest child had already worn a path to the doctor's office, first with bronchitis, which then escalated to viral pneumonia. On the long slow path to recovery, we huddle together in front of the humidifier, coughing in tandem, eating Jello and complaining about the lack of quality entertainment on television.

Luckily, we have tons of books. So in between coughing spasms, we snuggle together and read in bed, the three of us. Me, my daughter and her stuffed bear. At times like this only a stuffed animal will do, since all your other friends don't want to get too close to your germs.

And, in a way, that's one reason adults give kids the fluffy stuffed creatures. We know that life can be a little rough at times, and a little kid can use someone to hug who won't sully the moment with any unwanted advice or criticism.

Children inevitably outgrow their stuffed animals, just as they outgrow the need for constant support from parents. Maybe that's why I can't give away some of these stuffed toys. I know how it feels to be hugged and left behind.

On the bright side, I won't always be stuffed. But I will never be restored to my original fluffiness.