On a chilly April day, 5 month old Eleanor and I sat in our parked car while Jim ran into Toys 'R' Us. I had clipped a coupon that gave a great discount when you bought two toys from the company Vtech, and the coupon was due to expire soon.
"Just see what they have and choose whatever," I suggested. Several minutes later, Jim returned with a musical bath toy, and Yellow Bunny. We didn't introduce them to Eleanor right away. Soon after her 6 month birthday, it seemed that she finally might be ready for more than what dangled from her activity center, and I brought out the box containing the next stage of toys- stacking blocks, a shape sorting basket, and Yellow Bunny.
Yellow Bunny was more than a plush toy. She came from Vtech, meaning that within her tummy was a battery pack nestled inside, sealed by a velcro flap on her back. Each of her paws had a function. One got her to enthusiastically cheer, "Clap your hands along with me!/Dance with me!/Sing with me!/ Playing with you is SO MUCH FUN! I looove you!!!", while another paw caused her to jump into a rendition of peekaboo. "Where are you? HERE I AM!" And another setting switched her over into lullaby mode. "I feel sleepy," she yawned, as quiet lullaby music emanated from her insides, and a yellow heart positioned in the middle of her white circular belly glowed and dimmed, glowed and dimmed, while everyone got sleepy and snuggly.
This is how we first used Yellow Bunny, setting her in a corner of the crib so she could sweetly sing Eleanor to sleep each night. We soon learned of a new function of Bunny's. If Eleanor awoke crying, the night light on Bunny's tummy automatically began to pulse, and her peaceful music came across the baby monitor to our ears. Miraculously, Eleanor was often soothed back to sleep by Bunny's performance.
We were fans, but at first Eleanor didn't seem like she would really gravitate towards Yellow Bunny as any type of lovey. As the months went by, we began noticing something. We'd flick on our video monitor, and would find Eleanor with her arms around Bunny's body, clutching and softly carressing Bunny's ears in the dark. She began carrying Bunny around outside of the crib too, and with her usual stance, clutching Bunny around the waist or neck and squeezing Bunny's ears while she sucked her thumb. On long car rides, all Eleanor needed was for Bunny to be on her lap and she was set. Eleanor finally had a lovey.

One day, Eleanor would not drop Bunny as we headed out the door for daycare, so we brought Bunny with us. She then wouldn't leave Bunny in the car, and so Bunny came inside. Starting at age one, children at daycare could start to have an item in their cribs at naptime. It won't hurt anything to try having Bunny at school, I thought. I set Eleanor down on her feet in her daycare room, with Bunny snug in her grasp. The other toddlers instantly noticed the newcomer, as though they had a built in radar system for these types of novelties. Brent ran over to Eleanor and reached out his arms. I heard the "pop" of Eleanor's thumb being yanked out of her mouth as she lost her grip to Brent. Then Malcolm ran over, and he pulled on Bunny, and Trixie followed by Ava came running over, and like a loose ball in a football game they all scrambled for possession. And my poor baby ran after them, arms out-stretched, with a growing look of panic on her face as Bunny drifted further and further away. It broke my heart to witness this first experience for her, as mild as it really was. We kissed Eleanor on the head, restored Bunny to her arms for a brief reunion, and once morning snacktime was served at the table I was able to hide Bunny out of sight in Eleanor's cubby for the duration of the day until we could get her safely home again.
As you can imagine, Bunny is looking a bit loved at this point. Her yellow fur is faded and her ears appear to be a dirty gray instead of yellow. At least once a week I notice a new spot on Bunny's originally-snow white belly, and try as I might to sanitize and surface wash Bunny's exterior I cannot get that dingy hue to go away. I think it is here for good.

Last weekend, Bunny let us know that she was getting hungry for a fresh set of batteries by occasionally letting out a mechanical honk in the middle of a song. Her stomach stopped glowing as well. Just as he did during her last battery change, Jim used our mini screwdriver to open up Bunny's battery pack. He popped in two brand new Energizers, tapped Bunny's paw, and- nothing. Not one giggle, not one round of applause, just a hollow click came from her paw after being pressed. No soft light glowed on her tummy. Jim grabbed the screwdriver, swapped in two other new batteries, and...still nothing. Bunny was silent.
"Uh oh," we said to each other, using Eleanor's favorite phrase. We handed Bunny back to her, and she assumed her usual Bunny position with her thumb in her mouth and her fingers curled around Bunny's ears. She didn't seem to really notice Bunny was different, but then I saw her chubby toddler fingers squeeze Bunny's paw. "I think Bunny already fell asleep," I explained.
That night, I hopped onto Amazon, and after three clicks of the mouse another bunny was being sent via two day shipping. $14. This is actually a good thing, I thought. I can retire old Bunny, and now Eleanor will have a nice new yellow bunny that still works. And, if new bunny is ever lost, we will have old Bunny on reserve. Perfect.
New bunny (let's call her Bunny Two) arrived this afternoon. I set her on the counter, pushing her back from the edge where Eleanor couldn't see. Speaking of sight, I almost lost mine when Bunny Two came out of that box, she is so bright and sunshiney. The white of her belly is spotless, and my fingertips sunk into the softness of Bunny Two's fur. She is luxurious, the Lincoln of bunnies, and quite the catch. Her checks are dabbed with two very bright bursts of rouge. I didn't think Bunny One ever even had this blush, but sure enough, in peering across the kitchen to where Eleanor was clutching her, I saw two faint dots on her cheeks. I think I had just assumed that they were stains.
A few minutes later, Eleanor became distracted by something in her bedroom right off the kitchen, giving me the opportunity to snatch Bunny One up from the floor. I set Bunny One on the counter, right next to Bunny Two.
And my heart melted.
There was Bunny Two. Bright, enthusiastic, eager to start on the job. And then there was Bunny One, not even one year old and already entering the world of coveted heirloom teddy bears, the ones with missing button eyes and stuffing poking out of fatigued seams, kept up high on a shelf or carefully positioned on a quilted bed every morning. I looked at Bunny One, and I swear she looked back at me. Sitting next to Bunny Two, Bunny One's smile was deeper, more genuine. Her blotchy coat and discolored ears were signs of my daughter's love, love that even I am finally just receiving in hugs that come to me with a running start, and kisses formed by lips that quickly dissolve into smiles. Bunny One? She's been getting Eleanor's love this whole time.
Did Eleanor really need Bunny's music and songs? They were really nice to have, sure, but maybe there were times when Eleanor just wanted to sit and not clap, or read a book and not play peekaboo. Just maybe. And as much as we appreciated Bunny's lullabies playing to a restless infant at two in the morning, there were also plenty of times when "THERE'S A TRIANGLE ON MY PAW!" screetched across the baby monitor and bounced off our pillows like a pinball, the effect of Eleanor rolling on top of one of her buttons in her sleep.
I took a picture of Bunny One next to Bunny Two and sent it to Jim, with the caption, "I just can't do it."
When I was little, I lined up all my stuffed animals and one by one loved each of them as my favorite for one week before switching to the next one in line. I wanted them all to feel loved, and the more of them I loved, tucked next to me under the covers and curled around my head, the cozier I felt. My sister and I had a recurring nighttime game of make-believe, where our bed was a boat and we, with all our stuffed toy children, were together in the dark night, bobbing in the waves. All the things I love in life, Christmas or snow days and summer rains trapped indoors, give me that feeling of belonging, that sense of coziness. And wouldn't we all love to be loved like a teddy bear in a child's arms? To be that very special someone...
So Bunny Two is now up on the top shelf in our closet. She can serve as our back up, if God forbid something happens to Bunny One, or if Eleanor one day asks, "What was that song that Bunny used to sing, Mom?"
Or maybe, Bunny Two can one day be passed on to a little friend, and just maybe, if she is loved enough, she will become that child's Bunny One.

From
The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams
The Skin Horse had lived longer in the nursery than any of the others. He was so old that his brown coat was bald in patches and showed the seams underneath, and most of the hairs in his tail had been pulled out to string bead necklaces. He was wise, for he had seen a long succession of mechanical toys arrive to boast and swagger, and by-and-by break their mainsprings and pass away, and he knew that they were only toys, and would never turn into anything else. For nursery magic is very strange and wonderful, and only those playthings that are old and wise and experienced like the Skin Horse understand all about it.
"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"
"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."
"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.
"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."
"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"
"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."
"I suppose you are real?" said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive.
But the Skin Horse only smiled.
Recent Comments