You're My Favorite Deputy!

Regular readers of this blog will certainly have noticed the recurring role that one plastic cowboy has in pictures of Baby Girl. It’s true and frankly, it’s time we talked about it. Baby Girl has a somewhat unhealthy obsession with Woody the Cowboy.

I don’t really remember how or when it started, but I would have to say sometime last summer, she adopted him as her lovey of choice. The first Woody doll was a yard sale find that belonged to OBB. Once Baby Girl commandeered that one, I went ahead and bought OBB a brand new Woody from Toy Story 3. He said cooler phrases. And guess what – she took that one over too. So a couple days ago, I bought OBB ANOTHER new Woody from Toy Story 3. If you’re keeping count, that’s 3 Woodys circulating in our house at any given time, plus one more tucked away that we found at a yard sale that would only be brought out in case of a true Woody catastrophe when no Woodys could be located. So that makes 4.

Baby Girl carries Woody everywhere she goes. She sleeps with him at night. She takes him in the car, to the table to sit in her high chair with her while she eats, even to get her diaper changed. Woody has been to the grocery store, the doctor’s office, many restaurants and the post office. The only places Woody doesn’t go are to church and to preschool. When it’s time to go to one of those two places, I ask Baby Girl to leave him on the stairs to wait for her until she gets back. And she does – usually with a few tears, but she’s over it in a minute or two. And then the reunion that takes place when she returns home, walks in the front door and sees him waiting for her – well let me tell you – that is something special.


You want me to do what?





















What Woody looks like waiting on the stairs (and I promise, this is how she left him - I didn't touch him.)





















And Baby Girl doesn't just tote around Woody the doll. In case you hadn’t noticed, he has a hat, and Baby Girl is very diligent about keeping tabs on it. So he’s kind of a two-part lovey. Often when we are riding in the car, Baby Girl will drop Woody’s hat into the foot well under her seat. She’ll moan and cry until the car stops at a red light so I can reach around the back of my seat, grab the hat and hand it to her. This happens at least four times a day.

When she first started loving Woody she could hardly say his name. She called him “oooooo-eeee!”. Then it became “Woody”, and then she would say “hat” for his hat. She now refers to his hat as “cowboy hat”.

Recently we had a unfortunate event befall the first new Woody. After much loving and hugging and playing, Woody endured a fate never seen in any movie. His head became detached from his body. Not all the way, mind you. It was just like his neck suddenly got very long, exposing some wires that children shouldn't play with. Thankfully, Daddy, who can fix ANYTHING, came to the rescue and fixed Woody. I'm not even sure how he did it, but I can tell you it involved a trip to the garage and some rubber cement. Thankfully, Woody is now better than ever.

So there’s your peek into the psychosis that is Woody the Cowboy in our house. The most interesting part for me is watching people’s reactions when they see a little girl dressed all in pink carrying a cowboy as her most treasured possession. And I love when people talk to her about him. She‘ll usually hold him up in the air and give them a big wide smile.