I love stuffed animals. There, it’s out. Yes, I’m 25 and happily married, and yes, I still love my stuffed animals. When I first moved in with B, all of my special stuffed animals stayed in their cardboard box. He did have a stuffed dog on his bed. But, my stuffed animals were private, precious, and I didn’t want to be laughed at. As we continued to adjust to living together, we came to treat his Dog like it was a living member of our house. Jokingly banishing it from the room when we were making out. He’d try to sneak it into the bathroom while I showered just to hear my indignation that the Dog was a pervert.
When it came time for us to move though, I had to break out the toys. And out came Mr. Moosigans. Mr. Moosigans is a stuffed moose. And, I hate to confess, I named him the day I pulled him out of the box and showed him to B. You see, I’ve never been big on naming things, because I don’t talk to them. Just cuddle with them when I’m sad, lonely, or going to sleep. Still, I told B the story of how Mr. Moosigans came to belong to me. He was my Mom’s, she bought him on a summer vacation. She used to collect a new moose every time we went north for the summer. Two weeks before I went to college, my grandmother passed away suddenly. I was left feeling extra uprooted and terrified about leaving home. So my Mom gave me the moose from her bed to hug and squeeze when I needed a hug from her. I still use him for that to this day. Although, B gives much better hugs.
Still, with B in the States and me in Germany, it’s been nice to have Mr. M and the Dog in the hotel room with me. B snuck them into his luggage because he wanted me to have them before our other belongings got here. (what I gem I have) Still, they aren’t quite the same as having my darling husband to hold on to. He’s gotten very good at predicting when I need to be held.
Strangely enough though, our conversation yesterday turned into talking about me crying. Now, I don’t cry when I should. I don’t cry at weddings, or funerals, or graduations. I cry when I’m angry or frustrated. Not necessarily because I’m sad. But, he told me that he felt like a failure of a husband when I cried, because he wasn’t good enough to keep his wife from crying. It puts a different spin on my tears for sure. I didn’t realize that was why it hurt him so much when I cried (which I’ve done way too much of lately. damnable hormones and too much change at once). So I’m going to try to hug Mr M and the Dog more and hurt B less. No more tears. Time to decide that the challenge that is life right now is a grand and fun adventure rather than something to be endured. Besides, I know I’ll laugh about it later.