the little things

It’s the little things. Like a 7”, French-imported, rubber giraffe named Sophie that my son can’t function without.

This was the first thing Eleanor registered for upon finding out we were pregnant (apparently it’s the biggest toy since Furby), and I think it was initially more of an attempt to further fulfill my wife’s striped shirt-wearing, baguette-eating Parisian dream. But this toy – Sophie, as we refer to her – has become a part of our family. She eats at the dinner table, religiously attends church, and rides along in the car. With her (surprisingly) loud squeaker and ears and legs that are designed for gnawing on, everyone (pugs and baby) literally wants a piece of this chick.

And then I lost her. And our world came crashing down. At her core, Sophie is nothing more than a piece of rubber with a squeaker and spots. But her disappearance was more devastating than the loss of an iPod might be. Truly now I have become a dad. 

-Scott

Note from Scott: Since I wrote this post draft, Sophie has been found. Life can go on.

Note From Eleanor: Good thing too. That giraffe almost sent us to counseling.