Little Legs has a huge cache of toys and treasures. There is a combination of birthday presents, hand-me-downs, garage sale finds, and things meant for his brother that he has already claimed for his own. While I know we need downsize his horde, it is hard to decide what stays and what goes when he loves everything so dearly.
His most recent acquisition is a wooden puzzle of farm animals. It remains a bit advanced for him, but he gets the general idea. Interestingly, out of all the barnyard dwellers, he was drawn to one over the rest and has since adopted it as his special pet.
It is a pink, smiling pig with a splash of mud on its backside.
He carries it from room to room, feeds it from his dinner plate, and gives it rides on his monster truck around the house.
It is heart-warming to watch how he cares for the wooden creature and constantly sees to her inanimate well-being. He is a natural caregiver, something that I want to foster and continue to develop in my young son.
The only concerning aspect of this new development is his pig’s name which was made quite clear when the pig went missing.
“Mama,” he yelled running through the house.
“I’m right here, baby.”
He raised his hands in question, “Gone. Mama gone.”
He grabbed my hand and led me to the puzzle and pointed to the only missing piece, the pig.
“You named the pig?”
“You named it Mama?”
He nodded and smiled, pleased as a monkey with a peeled banana; finally, he was understood.
I laughed, feeling slightly jealous at my competition, “Ok, let’s go find Mama.”