Ari came into this world screaming, weighing six pounds, two ounces with all of her fingers, toes, and other appendages in all the right places. Her birth was the happiest moment of my entire life, and the love I had already felt was more intense than words could ever explain. As I look over her baby pictures now many years later, I see one thing that remained consistent about her childhood; her small, white bear named Wubby was always in her arms.

As a parent who loves their child so much, you could obviously understand my strong dislike for Wubby. Although Ari was deeply comforted by this bear, Wubby would constantly plague my dreams. I would dream night after night about Wubby making Ari sick. The little beast, I’m sure must have been teaming with germs and filth. If it wasn’t Ari getting sick, I would dream about losing Wubby, or having Wubby falling apart in my hands as I held it. On bad nights I would wake up in a cold sweat and I’d have to go check on my little girl and see that her blonde head was sound asleep on her pillow and Wubby was securely gripped in her arms. I hated that bear, and there were certain days where I wanted to put a contract out on Wubby.

Despite the daunting odds that loomed over my little girl and her stuffed animal, I was extremely grateful and often found my soul at ease when Ari held her Wubby. I was able to be confident in knowing that she felt safe as she clutched her decrepit bear and sucked her thumb. Even though I knew that someday Wubby wasn’t going to be there, it was nice to know that she was enjoying her time with him now.

Little did I realize how soon Wubby was going to leave us. The summer after Ari turned 3, she and I flew alone out to visit my mother and father in Las Vegas. I tried to convince Ari to stow her best friend in my carry-on luggage, but she would not listen to a single word. I nearly lost my mind during that 5 hour commute. Ari had taken to playing hide and seek with Wubby all over the gate. When it came time for us to board, Ari was in such a fluster to get on her first plane that she left the poor, ragged animal underneath a row of chairs. I ran over to the bear and picked it up, sharing a wise word with my daughter not to leave things lying around.

We arrived in Las Vegas slightly less frazzled than anticipated. My mother and father received us happily with open arms in the baggage terminal. Ari rushed into her Papa’s arms and her Nana was right by her side ooh-ing and ahh-ing over the excited child. My mother fussed about the usual things such as my skin and bones appearance, let alone my own child’s slender frame. I chose to ignore her words as I had done a countless number of times in the past.

The final night of our stay, Ari was in the living room with her Papa playing what sounded like a rousing game of Candy Land. I was in the large kitchen with my mother, stirring a pot full of angel hair pasta. While drying off a plate, my mother began speaking in a hushed tone, as if she were to tell me a secret.

“I noticed that she still has that bear.” My mother said, not making eye contact with me.

‘Here we go again’, I thought miserably. I was well aware how my mother felt about children and security objects from her many conversations with her before. She felt that any type of object that a child became attached to would hinder the child and make them weak. This was the woman who threw away my baby blanket at the age of five when I started Kindergarten. Ever after 2 decades I found it hard to forgive my mother’s form of tough love.

“Listen Mom,” I said while unintentionally slamming down the spoon I was stirring with. “I don’t like Wubby any more than you do, trust me on that. But I love Ari so much that if she wants to keep him it’s fine by me. I don’t see a single problem with it.”

“If you really loved her, you would see how bad of an influence this is on her.” She said.

The case was closed. My mother and I were obviously never going to see eye to eye in the matter. I began to stir again. All throughout dinner I could feel my mother’s gaze burn into me as I watched Ari attempt to feed her bear pasta. I couldn’t contain my laughter as Ari’s grubby hands grazed the already graying fur, leaving red sauce stains behind.

The next morning Ari and I left for the airport an hour before our plane was supposed to depart. Truth be told I was looking forward to another six months of mother free time. I wouldn’t have to worry about another confrontation until Christmas and any number of variables could change by then. Ari could be over her Wubby stage by then, or I could come up with a strong argument even my mother couldn’t knock down. Ari and I boarded our flight and we were headed for home. Something was odd however once we reached our cruising altitude. My sweetheart began to sniffle and cry.

“W-wubby, Momma! W-wubby!” Big crocodile tears poured out of her eyes. It was then I realized that I hadn’t seen Ari’s bear since we crossed the security check point in Las Vegas. Seeing the pain in my daughter’s face made my nightmares come to life. Suddenly I began questioning myself. Why did I let her carry Wubby? Why wasn’t I more careful? How could I do this to my baby girl?

Ari cried until she made herself sick. As I held the bag in front of her mouth with one hand and pulled her long blonde hair back with the other, a mother in the seat in front of me turned around and whispered words of encouragement for me. She suggested I find a new bear for Ari to replace the old one. How simple! Why would a little girl want an old, rather disgusting bear if she could have a new one?

It wasn’t the same for little Ari though. She looked at the new, clean bear with contempt glowing in her eyes.

“Momma, that’s not Wubby.” She said matter-of-a-factly.

“I know sweetie,” I simpered. “but Mommy doesn’t know where Wubby is. Mommy may never know where Wubby is.”

She looked down at the new bear and began to tear up again. I held her tightly in her arms as my own tears began to stream down my face.

“You know what Ari? Mommy misses Wubby too. Mommy misses him very much. So I think I know what we should do.” I say assuringly, rubbing her back. “I think that if you are sad, I will be your Wubby, and when I am sad, you can be my Wubby. Does that sound good to you?”
I held my Wubby for hours, never letting her go. My Wubby slept with me in my bed that night. To the day, I still hold Wubby very close to my heart because of the joy he brought me and the closeness I was able to share with Ari once he was gone.

I have yet to write the conclusion....

I'm writting this poem book just for you,
'Cause I don't have nothin' better to do.
I could mow the grass or I could clean the kitchen,
If I did that then Mom might quit her bitchin'.
My bed still ain't made, this place is a mess,
But I'm just too lazy to clean I confess.
It's now been three weeks since the bathrooms were cleaned,
The scum in the toilet is turning dark green.
It might be a little offsensive to some,
But my life would not be the same without scum.
Mom is always pissin' and moanin',
But the sum in my bedroom just keeps right on growin'.
Under my bed there is food, clothes, and books,
But I really don't give a shit how the place looks.
My make-up is scattered all over the place,
My mirror is so dirty I can't see my face.
I wish that I knew where the windows could be,
They're so fuckin' dusty I can't even see.
The closets are totally filled to the brim,
There's not even room for my clothes to go in.
All of the clothes from last month that I wore,
Are laying in piles all over the floor.
What color's my carpet? Please do not ask.
'Cause finding that out is a three hour task.
The radio plays music that just makes me cough,
If I could find it I'd shut it right off.
When I'm here after work I feel so alone,
But when someone calls I just can't find the phone.
When company's over, poor Mom is disgraced,
Because of the mess in this God-awful place.
The mess around here would make your head spin,
I'd clean it all up if I knew where to begin.
There's more everyday for me to clean-up,
but as you can tell I have just given up.