The Brown Sheep of our Family

Most of you have met Lamby by now, or at least read enough about him that you feel like you know him. He is Little Sissy's best friend, confidante, sleeping friend. She takes him everywhere. She chews on his tail, she rubs her face with his matted fur while she sucks her fingers, she reads him books. It's really sweet, but he looks nasty. It's like old carpet that even though you shampoo it, it still makes your socks brown. I bought a replacement several months ago, but she wouldn't touch him because he was too new, was still pink, still had a blanket and said a bedtime prayer, and still had all of his facial features. Here's a picture of the difference then. Over a year later, you can imagine what he looks like now.

Lately, though, it seemed like she was ready to move on. Big Sissy was about this age when she voluntarily traded her beloved Dog Dog for a new mangy cat she calls Caroline Pudding. One day recently we briefly lost "Brown Lamby," as she now calls him to distinguish him from the despised newer "Pink Lamby." Seemingly undeterred, she picked up her plush Veggie Tales guy, Larry Boy, and said, "That's OK. He can be Lamby." I took that as a sign that she might be OK with cuddling with other friends. So two nights ago we lost Brown Lamby again. Our house is not big, but he was nowhere to be found. She cried briefly but seemed OK when I told her I would bring him in if I found him.

Today I found him. He was in the bathroom cabinet with all the bath toys. I almost took him in to her, but then I hesitated. This is a good time, I thought. After all, I don't want her to take him to college, and I'm getting bombarded with suggestions for his demise (send him on a "trip" that he never comes home from, dismember him piece by piece until he's just a lamby torso. These are lamby haters, I'm telling you!) Here's how it went down. Nap time was a nightmare. She cried. Daddy laid down with her. I laid down with her. She never did go to sleep. By nighttime she was so tired I thought she would surely just grab something to cuddle and go to sleep without a fight. What I didn't expect was that she would break my heart. She didn't throw a fit or get angry. There was no tantrum. She cried as though her heart would break and kept saying through her tears, "Brown Lamby. Brown Lamby. I really like him. Brown Lamby." At prayer time she even prayed that God would help her find him.

OK. Dagger through the heart. I couldn't stand it. Brown Lamby is back. My daughter loves him, so I might as well embrace him, nasti-ness and all.