Dear Oof-oof,

Here's to my son's little, limp, blonde stuffed best friend.  Who knew that a lifeless toy could have such a personality and such a bond with a boy who has enough life for the both of you.

You began as a gift, and your soft fuzz made for the perfect newborn photo-shoot backdrop.  Then you quietly took your perch on the shelf and kept your dark brown eyes protectively on my baby sleeping in the crib below.

However, it didn't take long for Owen's own brown eyes to spot you on that shelf.  A friendship was born.  Soon after he said the sweet words: "mama" and "dada," "oof-oof" rolled off his tongue.  (It might have come first, but I'm too proud to remember that.)  Unseparable.

As much as you've been through, it's no surprise there is a little less fluff in your stuff.  Your neck has been formed to the shape of Owen's loving elbow.  Your tail is bald from loyal tugs.  Your eyes are scuffed due to a few run-ins with the cement.  And your fur is well worn from being first of the scene to soak up tears, blood, boogers, and other unmentionable bodily fluids.

Thank you for being there for my sweet, soft-hearted little boy.  He turned to you for comfort during his first nap at daycare, when he woke up scared in the middle of the night, and whenever mommy isn't there to kiss his "ouch".  You also provided your undivided attention when our attention was needed for another little boy in our house.  Now, Owen happily shows you off his little brother, but don't worry, he isn't about to let you become a hand-me-down.  You are his.  Always.

Some day you two won't be together.  Maybe Owen will out grow you.  Maybe it will be the washer that is your demise.  Maybe you'll be lost or left.  But until then, keep up the good work.  Owen loves you.  We all love you.

Sincerely,

Owen's Mom

P.S.  You smell much better after your bath today.