It's really sad when kids lose their lovies, be it a stuffed animal or a blanket. There are tears and long going-to-bed episodes before two days pass and the lovey is forgotten.
What is truly tragic is when an adult lovey gets lost, like mine did. I know, some of you may think the very existence of an adult lovey is the tragic part. (Also, the phrase "adult lovey," sounds like something bought in a raunchy store with blacked out windows.) I tell you, the losing is the tragic part. Do not argue with me on this point.
I have a special pillow lovey named Lumpy, because it's (he's) misshapen and wasted away from years and years of hugging. Lumpy cannot be used as an actual pillow because my head would loll off to one side all night. Lumpy is shaped like this:
Rather, Lumpy is meant to be hugged or tucked: into a sick-feeling tummy, under a giant baby-wielding belly, beside a tender surgical site, or against a hurt heart. Lumpy conforms to the space and need. Its not-so-fluffy insides absorb tears and don't tell secrets.
When I got married, my husband had two issues with Lumpy: 1.) Adding this pillow to our bed (sometimes between us) was not part of his marital vows, 2.) When we changed the sheets, he freaked out about how ugly Lumpy was inside. Squished, old, pilled fabric, and years of dead skin absorbed in the pillow fluff. Sure, it's gross, but statistically true. Don't read this link unless you're prepared to see your bed and couch in a new way.
I realized that Lumpy and Taco Bell have a lot in common. What is full of awesomeness on the outside, is full of disgusting mystery on the inside.
Lumpy and I have a lot in common; I look fairly happy on the outside but am often dark and anxious on the inside. We match. So I might put a new cover on Lumpy, but his place beside me in bed remained the same.
Recommended for You
For ten years.
Then I left him in a hotel in Columbia, South Carolina. Seven hours later I realized my mistake and called the hotel. The desk guy didn't know nuthin' 'bout a pillow. I cried. Lumpy has lived in ten places with me, including England; has won over my husband and comforted his tummy aches, too; cushioned my arm when I nursed my babies in a wooden rocking chair. How could I forget him?
I did, in two days. I actually slept better those nights because I didn't have to shift that pillow with me each time I rolled in bed. Then I called the hotel again. This time, the desk guy had Lumpy, packed it into a box, which was delivered to me a few days later.
Now we're back. Lumpy tucked beside me, waiting for the next need from an ugly, comforting thing. Watching Fried Green Tomatoes on VHS; whispering my worth when someone else stomps on it; propping my back while we hold sick kids; absorbing my thoughts when lists, ideas, and prayers mingle in the night.
Do you have a Lovey that comforts you?
This post is sponsored by Tempur-Pedic. Not really, but it would be awesome if they would send me a new mattress. You know, one without the mites and skin.
But Lumpy stays.