Sleepy Man

When Izzy was about four months old, I bought him a little cloth doll. (The doll is about as tall as my hand, not counting his hat.) Since the doll appears to be wearing a nightcap, and because we hoped it would become a nighttime comfort object, we named it Sleepy Man. Despite our efforts to build Isaac's enthusiasm, however, he did not care about Sleepy Man at all. Not only did the doll not improve Isaac's sleep (admittedly an overly ambitious goal), it didn't even serve as a plaything.

This changed about two weeks ago when Isaac began attributing his own feelings to the doll. "Sleepy Man tired," Isaac would say sleepily as he lay the doll down in the bed. Or, "Sleepy Man like," Isaac would say enthusiastically as he pointed to a picture of a vehicle.

Looking at Sleepy Man's favorite pictures even inspires Isaac to do a strange little song-and-dance routine -- he quickly rocks back and forth while chanting rhythmically, "Sleepy Man like. Sleepy Man like." (Sleepy Man especially likes the race car, which interestingly is not Isaac's favorite.)

Over the past two weeks Isaac has requested that we include Sleepy Man when we read stories, and that Sleepy Man be in his bed when it's time to sleep. He often sleeps holding the doll in his hand. But it wasn't until I tried to wash Sleepy Man that the depth of Isaac's affection for the doll was revealed.

This past Wednesday I noticed that Sleepy Man was looking a little dirty -- for the first time ever, since Isaac had so seldom played with him -- so I decided to throw him in with a load of wash. In fact, I tried to sneak the doll into the washing machine. Even though I was sure that Isaac wasn't actually attached enough to the doll to care, I knew that many children find the washing of their security object to be traumatic, so I thought secrecy would forestall any potential trouble. However, I wasn't secretive enough, and Isaac, who was helping me with the laundry as usual, noticed his doll going into the washer.

"Sleepy Man!" he cried in alarm. "Sleeeeeepy Man!" It occurred to me that I might have made a mistake.

"Sleepy Man is going to take a bath," I said brightly. Isaac did not seem comforted by my reasoning. As I hadn't put soap or water into the machine yet, I decided I'd just pull out the doll for now (and be much more sneaky about washing him later). But I couldn't find him easily, and he was all mixed in with the dirty clothes, and I didn't quite believe that Isaac was going to remain upset, so I gave up the search after a minute. "Sleepy Man is going to take a bath," I repeated firmly.

We spent the next ten minutes sitting on the floor of the laundry room, eyes intent upon the little window in the front of the washing machine, watching the clothes go around and around and hoping for a glimpse of Sleepy Man. Isaac didn't actually weep, but he was upset. "Grab," he cried, stretching out his arms toward the washer. "Keep," he wailed, trying to pry open the door to the washer. "Need," he moaned, climbing in my lap and holding onto my hair as a unsatisfactory substitute.

Luckily Craig came home from work at this point, and together we tried our best to distract Isaac. Even so, every few minutes the poor boy mentioned Sleepy Man. All I could do was say, "You miss Sleepy Man. You feel bad. You can have him back when it's time for bed." After the wash cycle was through, Isaac and I visited a damp Sleepy Man prior to putting the doll into the dryer. It didn't seem to comfort him at the time, but now, three days later, it has given him a framework for understanding what happened -- he knows that you get wet at bathtime. "Sleepy Man bath," Isaac says, looking at the doll. "Sleepy Man wet. Sleepy Man dry."

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I was so surprised that Isaac had formed this intense emotional connection to Sleepy Man in just a matter of weeks, especially after his not caring about the doll for over a year. In fact, Craig suggests that the washing machine trauma strengthened Isaac's affection for the doll -- that the sense of loss created a bond. Either way, I began wondering if we should obtain a back-up Sleepy Man in case of emergency, although Craig is sure that Isaac will be able to tell the difference. I found just one on-line store that still sells the doll in the barnyard print, and I nearly purchased it until I realized that shipping was $9, equal to the price of the doll. I'm not sure I can spend $18 for a back-up doll that Isaac will probably reject anyway. I may regret this frugality later.