|Me at 7 months, 1986|
When I was a kid, a sock monkey lived in my closet. I had the biggest closet in the house, so a lot of stuff was stored in my room, including my parents' seemingly ancient toys. A dusty, old teddy bear missing an eye; a very Raggedy Ann, and a limp old sock monkey.
When I learned to climb I went up on that high shelf, and pulled down some of these toys. Honestly, the sock monkey scared me a bit, with his intense stare and big lips. I found out that my great grandmother had made that sock monkey for my dad, and it was indeed something worth hanging on to.
Years later now, I've moved all my belongings out of my parents' house, and they too have moved on to new places. I haven't seen that old sock monkey in years (if it even still exists), but when going through old photos this weekend I came across the above photo of me, as a baby, with that old sock monkey. It's amazing how many old memories over something that seemed so meaningless to me at the time, could come flooding back.
It's interesting timing as well - as I was out getting ice cream and food for my daughter's first birthday party a couple of weeks ago (above), and I picked up a cute sock monkey on impulse for party decor. I wish I had the old sock monkey to give them to play with, because as cute as the new sock monkey is, it just lacks that certain something that a lovingly made sock monkey possesses.