Brock Harris: The Case of the Missing Lamby Lamb

Few are the things I would not do for my son. This isn’t anything special, or at least shouldn’t be. Dads know what I mean.

Trips to the pharmacy for cough-quelling medicine at 2 a.m. Five more minutes in the toy aisle here and there.

“How long can a little dude be in awe of the same series of Toy Story toys or Avengers LEGO sets?” one may ask. You would be surprised.

Also on the list involves taking 10 minutes to get as many feet down the hallway in the wee hours of the morning. Just picture Harrison Ford trying to hit the right steps in the floor with death one wrong step away. Such are creaky floorboards before your little ones begin sleeping through the night. Side note: do not call them “littles” or “bigs” by the way. Said titles are reserved only for hipster parents. Mini-vans, despite the elitist and trendy bumper stickers, are not cool... We will probably have to purchase ours after this year’s tax check.

Just this morning, I donned my robe and sneakers to find Lamby and the custom-made weighted blanket my mom had ordered for her too-spoiled, only grandson. (For those who haven’t learned or tested out a weighted blanket, I highly recommend them. You may not want the puppy-dog print, but you will sleep better than a 3-year-old after three hours at Charles Edward Cheese’s joint.)

Lamby was gifted to my son the day of his baptism and ever since the two have been thick as thieves. Where my boy goes, Lamby goes. Lamby lost his good eye about three months in, has had the top of his ear gnawed down to a small, nappy nub. He smells like milk, extra cheesy Goldfish, and raspberries -- but in a good way, sort of.

Yes, we do bathe Lamby, and our son for that matter, regularly. Laundry detergent and Johnson & Johnson can only do so much. He woke up around 4 a.m. after an evening of cuddling, tickling, candy-giving, and other spoiling by not only Grammy, but also Granny. With their powers combined, no one could get good sleep. I think it’s because they have cable and we are cheap and have digital bunny ears, but perhaps that is just this tightwad’s jealousy speaking. He was up until 9:30 p.m. and needed more zzz’s.

With this 4 a.m. unplanned wakeup call, he missed his stuffed animal and whined accordingly. You know the sound similar to that of a ghost being tortured: "aahhhaaAAAAhhhh."

It’s pitiful you guys, just pitiful. We were also made aware of this by his gargantuan size 12 (in kids) hooves poking and prodding us in our bed after he crawled in with us. I was closest to the door and after mom very passive-aggressively restated “Oh, you need your Lamby, buddy?” for the third time, I got the hint. It was only a matter of time anyway. So, I threw on my robe and hobbled into his room. Lamby could not be found. We were at DEFCON 3 people, totally skipping DEFCON 4 altogether.

From down the hallway I heard “Maybe he’s in the crack, Dad”. Out of context, we have some odd phrasing, but sometimes old Lamby Lamb gets stuck in between the wall and the Thomas the Train sheets. He was not there -- DEFCON 2.

“Did you check outside in the car, Dad?” I tied up the robe, which I think is shrinking after every wash, but that’s more of a New Year’s resolution style story. I took a few seconds to check the shoe situation and could only find some already laced up tennis shoes. It was a bit wet outside, so I put them on and opened up the door. See husbands, you don’t gain points by not getting muddy footprints on the floor, but you don’t lose any either.

It didn’t help matters that because I refused to unlace the shoes, my gait resembled that of a drunken runway model. Our step just outside the front door is a wobbly one at that. Should have unlaced them. Other metaphors may include: a fawn five minutes after birth, a stilettoed werewolf, or a stilter’s apprentice. Under the cover of darkness (thank goodness) I got to our too-small, kid’s meal-riddled sedan and found Lamby -- disaster averted.

We could turn off auxiliary power and tell the Joint Chiefs to disassemble. The whole thing took no longer than 10 minutes, but I am a fan of hyperbole if you have not yet noticed.

Whether it’s stuffed animal retrieval at 4 a.m. or crawling through a play tunnel after work before you ever get your coat and bag off at 4 p.m. (teachers’ hours), dad duty must be adhered to. Otherwise, you’re just doing it wrong. Otherwise, you’re not having fun.