My daughter’s a mom.
For some time now, she’s been calling her favorite stuffed bear her daughter. This summer, she’s taken the conceit to another level. Tuesday, she held a birthday party for her daughter. This included party guests, cake, wrapped up presents (with cards…and gifts from grandpa and grandma), and many other party-related ephemera. The bear got a plate of real food and a cup of water at dinner (though the bear did not eat well, according to my daughter). She held her daughter after dinner and scrolled through her “phone” (an…I kid you not…envelope for a card that was about the size of an iPhone X). When she took a bath, she arranged pajamas for her daughter. Before she went to bed, she read her daughter a bedtime story (a book she had written during her own afternoon playtime).
It got weirder. My daughter announced her marriage to John, her stuffed sloth. When my wife went to the grocery store yesterday, the sloth and bear went too.
I think it’s a phase. John is already being phased out. The bear did not come to the library today. If the bear has a baby…
Learning Together 