The Ballad of Timmy

It’s odd: when your toddler first begins to toddle, you watch every move like a sleep-deprived hawk, hyper-aware that at any moment she may decide to fling herself headfirst off the couch and break her neck in the laundry basket, or climb out the window and fall to her doom, or somehow drown herself in the toilet.

Then, in a flash, you’re at the stage where you hear her footsteps dashing down the hallway and you just yell “INCOMING” to your husband and hope he hears.

Anyway, this isn’t a blog about bad parenting, this is a blog about Timmy.

BEHOLD, TIMMY!

Timmy was recently gifted to the Milkmeister by her Grampy’s girlfriend.*

*One of his girlfriends. He sees Jumpo on Friday and Playtime on Saturday. Names have been changed to protect the questionably innocent; the names I have chosen are the names of two of the MM’s rabbit toys, and in hindsight ‘Playtime’ makes this a regrettable choice. MM named the toys, in case you are having concerns about Me.

As Dad says, he is 83; any more girlfriends than that, and he simply wouldn’t have the time.

The MM got Timmy as a birthday present and became instantly obsessed with him, to a level usually only seen in people who have just discovered spin class and really want you to go. Her previous favourite companions, Otter and Deer, were relegated to joint second place in her emotions; this seems unfair as they have been there through thick and thin, whereas Timmy is a gauche newcomer.

deer, meeting her people

otter, brunching

Apart from being the first toy to be graced with a name that isn’t his species, Timmy has another defining factor: two days after arrival, his ear fell off.

The MM was DEVASTATED and demanded “Mama, fix it!”

( The MM seems to think I can fix anything. Last week she gave her toast to the dog then became Deeply Upset that the toast was gone, and demanded that I fix it. So I gave him a tranquiliser and got out my scalpel and- no! I made another piece of toast. You’ll never guess who the MM gave it to.)

Now, I am good at many things, but sewing is not among them. I tacked ol’ Tim’s ear back on with embroidery thread, to the best of my ability, and presented him triumphantly to the MM’s Dad.

“Perhaps we could ask one of our mums to do it properly,” he said.

IT WASN’T THAT BAD. IT ADDS CHARACTER

But the MM did not mind the slightly wonky Timmy. She was just delighted that he was as good as new.

Was he, though?

Because three days after that, we went to the supermarket, and Timmy’s other ear fell off.

weirdly the police would not do this so i had to photoshop it. i bet if a person lost their ear in the supermarket there would be some tape

We were lining up at the checkout, excited for our squeezy yoghurt (MM) and beer (me) when I noticed that Timmy - who at last inspection had been whole in body and mind - was missing yet another ear.

Despite the urgency of the situation, I felt a huge amount of satisfaction that the ear I had replaced wasn’t the one that had just fallen off.

I said to the MM, perhaps at a volume slightly unsuited for the supermarket, “TIMMY’S EAR! It’s come off!”

The MM yelled from her seat in the trolley, “Timmy’s Ear! IS ARE YOUUUUU?” and I said “we’ll find it. Is Timmy OK?” and she said “YOU OK TIMMY?” and I’m ashamed to say that I snickered and said “he can’t hear you.”

Thankfully we found it, and Timmy is once again restored. But I can’t say I don’t hold it against him.

behold… timmy.

otter would never pull this shit.