I don’t remember who gave me DBB (Dr. Bunny Bear), I just remember that this particular blue plush bear with long ears was a baby shower gift and that he was discovered by my eldest son at a very young age.

DBB instantly became his suffie, his lovie, his constant companion.

The attachment to stuffies and lovies is intense – and we know it because we had our own. I had Tina. She was a Rushton Co. doll with a yellow snowsuit, plastic hands and a face to match. My grandmother bought her for me and, for about a decade, I couldn’t sleep without her. My cousin had one which I secretly (or maybe not-so-secretly) named Tanya, and when my cousin gave Tanya to me my night-time routine was complete. They were twins and I couldn’t sleep without them – one safely tucked under each arm like some mini-mama with her twins.

When my son glommed onto DBB I knew the love he felt. I identified with it and was happy he’d found his guy. My younger son discovered Russ – a red tabby stuffie that my husband had bought me many years prior when we first started dating.

The lovies were part of our family. When one went missing it inspired panic. When the boys were sick, the lovies helped them feel better. When the boys were sad, the lovies were their confidantes.

Lovies and stuffies become important members of the family for years, and then one day – just like Puff The Magic Dragon lamented “Painted wings and giant rings make way for other toys.”

It broke my heart when I’d come to say goodnight and DBB was on the floor. I’d go to tuck him in and my son would say thanks – as if sleeping with DBB were just an afterthought of mine.

Then DBB showed up in the stuffie bin.

Now that was cold. Heartless.

Who was this not-so-little boy and why was he relegating his bestest friend to the stuffie bin? It was morning when I discovered the banishment and thought maybe his dad did it purposely, wanting his manchild to stop sleeping with stuffies. In my mind my husband was to blame. He wanted to make a man out of my baby and he was rushing things. I was fuming.

(He’s 12, hubby isn’t rushing a thing. The kid is almost taller than me and I’m 5’9″.)

But just as quickly, I realized I was in denial. I was hurt on DBB’s behalf – indignant in fact. Why would DBB be treated this way and how could we break DBB’s little heart??!!

And then I realized whose heart was breaking. DBB is a stuffie, he will be okay, but this mom-heart – it’s much more delicate.

Trying to hold onto their littleness is like trying to hold onto a handful of dry sand – and just when you’re getting good at having a little boy, the big boy shoves him right out of the sandbox.

Poor Puff.

Poor me.

Poor DBB.

It’s not so easy to accept they’re getting big. It’s hard loosening the reigns and letting them grow up. Day by day it happens and it becomes so tricky to navigate. I know I should be happy to see the efforts I put in paying off in maturity and growth, but it’s hard not to try to hold on… and then my hubby reminds me about Norman Bates, and I dust DBB off and stand there, the internal struggle between returning DBB to the stuffie bin or back to his place of honour in my son’s bed I realize what I have to do. Yes, I put DBB right back in that bed! He will end up in the stuffie bin soon enough, but not today. Nope. One day soon, but just not yet.