Rob loves balloons. And, as a faithful reader of my blog and listener to my stories at lunch, my good friend Elys knows this. So, it only made sense that she would stop and pick up a few balloons for him on her way over for a Tupperware party Wednesday night. Robbie was immediately sold on Elys and ran around for the next half hour with his balloons.
He didn’t let go of them for the next three and a half hours. I put him in bed with his balloons and an episode of Sesame Street on the computer. Really, the goal was just to keep him quiet, even if he didn’t go to sleep. And he didn’t. When I came upstairs three hours later, he was in the same position: standing at the foot of his crib, looking up at Sesame Street, and clutching his single remaining balloon in his right fist. I finally wrangled the balloon string away from Robbie and got him to fall asleep and thought I was home free.
Wrong. So wrong. I woke up at 3:00 in the morning to screaming. Heart-wrenching screams from the room down the hall. I went in, saw the balloon on the floor, and looked at Robbie. He had tears streaming down his face and was pointing at the floor, crying, “Bon bon! Bon bon!” (his new word for balloon, even though he actually knows how to say balloon). I handed it to him on my way to get him some milk, and he just cried harder, limp balloon in hand.
He finally fell asleep, but that wasn’t the end of the bon bon. As soon as we got home Thursday, he ran upstairs to look for it. And that poor balloon followed him around the backyard for the rest of the afternoon.