Anyone Know a Good (Stuffed) Animal Doctor?

Sasa is sick.

I don’t know who is more distraught by this – G or me. (I suspect it’s me, though.) We noticed that one of her ears had started to come loose from her head. There was a tuft of clean, golden fur sticking out – a fur not seen since 2007.  Juxtaposed against her matted, gray, and increasingly threadbare body, this sprightly fur is a jarring reminder of her mortality.

We’re going to take her to a stuffed animal vet (aka a tailor), as G stated that a real vet would not treat her. He seems unfazed by Sasa’s illness, as the stickers and lollipops she will get from the vet will make her all better (note to self: buy stickers and lollipops).

I, however, will not feel all better, not even after Sasa is mended. Sasa’s deterioration is a visceral, omnipresent reminder of the mortality of something else – G’s babyhood. While he still cuddles with me and allows me to cover him in kisses, I know that the days of him being my little boy, my baby, are numbered. All too soon, he will stop rushing home to suck his thumb and cuddle “his girl” (Sasa, not me). In less than a year, he will be in Kindergarten, followed swiftly by grade after grade, until he is a grown man.

Watching your children grow up is one of the most bittersweet experiences a parent has. It is exhilarating to see him learn, to watch him morph into a confident, inquisitive person with ideas and opinions of his own. At the same time, I mourn for the period where the two of us were inseparable, where I was his world and he, mine. I am both thrilled to gain a young man, yet sad to see my baby fade.

So we will take Sasa to the vet. He will mend her wounds, holding her together and preserving G’s babyhood for a little while longer. And I will cherish every moment of it.

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