Waylon does not have a blanket. He does not have a nook or a special stuffed bear or any other object that calms him down or helps him fall asleep. All he has is me. Old Mommer. I am his security object.
It’s not ideal, and for months I worried this meant nothing would ever cheer him up unless I was there to rip off my clothes and settle down for a nurse. This is not convenient at the grocery store. It will be even less convenient when he goes off to college.
At first he was a baby so I shrugged and said “he’s just a baby!” But now he’s not really a baby anymore so I’ve been working on distraction and pushing the cold, hard facts of life. Like, Mommer is tired and Mommer is especially tired of breastfeeding in restaurant bathrooms.
It’s a work in progress. He still doesn’t have a replacement for me, but he does have a few weird things that trigger him back to happy in a pinch. The first one is a little embarrassing (pretzel sticks, unhealthy!), the second one is common (a special song, how annoying!), and the third one is just bizarre. A pair of yellow boots.
This kid loves boots. He loves them so much that he can’t wait to put them on in the morning and doesn’t want to take them off at night. He loves them so much that when he’s wearing one pair, he inevitably comes to me with another pair asking to wear both.
The yellow ones are his favorite. I guess the monkeys are a riot? I don’t know. Mostly he just walks around with his gut out and his eyes pointed down so he can watch his feet crush things like discarded cheerios and my toes. Is this what boys do? I only had a sister. Stop stepping on my feet.
Not to get all Carrie Bradshaw on you, but I guess we all have a pair of proverbial yellow boots; something that helps us calm down, start fresh, think differently, and in its simplest form–remind us that we’re pretty cool.