Today my 18 month old, Judah said the word, "fuzz," while reaching for his ball of yarn. Not "milk," or "juice," or "apple"...but "fuzz." Here's the story:
Each of my boys have had a blankie. For the most part, a blankie has been chosen for the boy, and simply encouraged through regular use. With number three, the only blankie he's ever considered sleeping or cuddling with has been a minty green, hand-crocheted hand-me-down. Soon after he turned a year old, Judah displayed signs of his yarn fetish, which continues still at 18 months. He gingerly picks a fuzz off his crocheted blankie and savors it in his mouth like it's gummy snacks or goldfish crackers. As you can imagine, we have found trace evidence of this unusual fascination in his diapers, and gently discourage him from consuming large quantities of his blanket at naptime. While he continues to snuggle his blankie (surreptitiously tasting here and there), Judah's new obsession is a ball of yarn he found in my craft pile. Of course, what's not to love: it's a ball, it's food, and it's fuzzy. As you can imagine, playing with the ball is only allowed under close supervision, as he could easily find himself tangled in his own web of revelry. Last Sunday, in the chaos of getting the five of us out the door for church, Judah somehow came across a small segment of yarn which he lovingly held between his thumb and forefinger all the way to church. To my suprise, he was still holding this little piece of yarn after church, after lunch, and as he went down for his nap. When naptime was over, I found him sockless in his crib...with his blankie and his yarn. I don't know what to say about it, really. Fuzz is his friend. Or, perhaps something is missing from his diet.
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