[flickr id=”7665967864″ thumbnail=”small” overlay=”true” size=”small” group=”” align=”left”]We all have them.
Hidden away in drawers.
Stored in boxes.
Sometimes right out on display.
The toy.
The one toy.
Stuffed animal.
Toy car.
Blanket.
Pretend make up purse.
The toy they grew out of.
But we never grew out of seeing them with.
The one they clung to at night.
Carried everywhere.
Eventually loyalties changed, a new toy took over, a new animal, a doll or a train.
But the toy is still there.
The one that reminds you of your baby.
It’s ragged.
Broken.
Coming apart in places.
Maybe you should toss it.
But you can’t.
It’s a piece of your baby.
The one that’s growing up too fast.
The one that now runs off by themselves rather than holds your hand.
The baby that rolls their eyes and pronounces they are NOT your baby.
But they’ll always be your baby.
So you keep that piece.
That ragged, worn out, tired piece.
And you never let it go.
I still have my first baby’s toy. She was a 4 1/2 lb yorkie girl who loved her chickie. It was her first toy. The one that she would sleep on. I meant to have it creamated with her but in the horror that was that morning, I forgot.
One of the other dogs got it ont and started to play with it and I took it away. It was hers.