The Love of a “Woobie”

 

I loved my woobie! I took it wherever I went. It was so much apart of me that my brother thought it was important to point out in every “Peanuts” book we had the strong resemblance I had to Linus (and apparently sometimes Lucy, you know, the bratty one). I remember watching the movie Mr. Mom and relating to the boy who loved his woobie and had a healthy fear of the vacuum. Those vacuums have no compassion for woobies, socks or dust bunnies. They still are very ruthless even if they look prettier these days.

My trusty pink gingham sidekick (and my prema-pruned thumb) got me through many tears, torturous brothers, bad dreams and wet beds. I remember the joys that the lack of nighttime control brought me in my childhood. I would wake up wet, be afraid to tell my mom (which I COMPLETELY understand her side now but at the time I thought she had something in common with The Tin man of Oz), change my clothes and lay on the heater vent with my woobie while I waited for the sun to rise.

I made Audrey a blanket before she was born that I thought for sure would be her own woobie. She loved it but she didn’t LLLOOOOOVVEEE it like you do a true woobie. She has never really been attached to anything that I could say was her security object.

Annie’s “woobie” is anyone that will snuggle with her. She has a hard time sleeping by herself. In fact, she was out of her crib and in Audrey’s bed much earlier than I would have wanted her to be. She would just stand in her crib and cry reaching out for Audrey. We now sleep with our door locked because if we don’t we wake up with a foot in the crotch or a slap from a cute little hand in our face.

Then we have Lilykins. She and I totally get each other! She has her little shiny blanky and her perma-pruned thumb-there was a time that she had a big sore on the tip of her thumb from sucking on it so much! Anytime she is sad, just find her woobie and all will be well! Give her a bean bag, a Sippy AND her woobie, well, nothing could be better!

 

I still have that blanket tucked away in storage. If it wasn’t buried in the back I would probably dig it out and sleep with it. But in my adulthood I have discovered new addictions *ahem* “woobies”  that make me feel safe and secure. It seems that no matter our age we all need that something to hold on to at night that scares away all the monsters. The monsters have change and so have the woobies but the fear or need for comfort will never change. Hopefully the woobies, stuffed animals or thumbs we have chosen in our adulthood are relatively harmless and bring us the little comfort we need to get by.

Some of mine include:

 

 

  Hey, at least I’m not wetting the bed anymore!