Doudou

'Doudou' is the French word naming what in English we would call a 'comfort object' or 'transitional object': a 'doudou' can be a special toy, a blankie, a pacifier, whatever it is that a child will not go to sleep without, or in which she invests a special emotional energy.

Here is Miss Baby with her doudou, a cotton diaper. Her love for this tri-fold, blue-serged, deeply prosaic rectangle has only blossomed recently, and is manifest in the delighted kicks and squirms and smiles she can't help but indulge in when this precious object is dangled near to her. She reaches for it, pulls it tight to herself. She chomps down hard on one corner of it, pulling just as hard in the other direction with little clenched fits, her nose wrinkling with the effort. She rubs it against her closed eyes, against her ears. She holds it by one side and shakes the bejesus out of it, just to watch it fly. If doudou is draped over the shoulder of The Dada, she gratefully settles herself into it, a brief quiet pause before she rubs her face violently against it, fortified again for fun and games.

It seems an unusual object for her to fasten her affections to, perhaps, and certainly my mother imagines this to be due to some lack of planning or provisioning on my part (surely, surely! she has nicer blankies or a nice soft bunny or maybe a soother to which she might be directed?) but we might easily enough have seen that this rapprochement has been long in developing. Way back in September, even, we can see the two lovers entwined. This is a love of opportunity, an opportunity provided by the sheer abundance both of cloth diapers and of breastmilk, and cemented by Miss Baby's inattentiveness at mealtimes. Something of a messy eater in her early infancy, Miss Baby's mealtimes were rendered all the more exciting by an extremely active letdown reflex on my part: the conjunction of these two trends led to very frequent washing of the nursing pillow cover, and of similarly frequent post-meal outfit changes for Miss Baby. Finally, we hit upon the strategy of 'setting the table' before putting her down to eat. That is, I wedged a cotton diaper under her chin to protect her outfit, and under my boob to protect the nursing pillow. (Cotton diapers were in plentiful supply, as we were signed up with a service. Let them wash it, I say!) As it happens, Miss Baby regularly fell asleep while breastfeeding, and the process of moving her from nursing rocker to crib often resulted in the diaper remaining tucked under her chin.

This habit has developed into a fondness, an honest-to-god preference for these bits of cloth over all others. You have to admit, it's pretty practical: keep enough of these around and they can go into and out of the wash without anybody panicking over the loss; they are interchangeable and thus easily replaced if lost; they are of a convenient size to tote around; and in a pinch, they are very absorbent. Still, I never really imagined tucking my baby lovingly into her crib for the night, making sure to provide her with ... a diaper to snuggle. But I've put this objection aside when I realized the implied compliment: what distinguishes this bit of rag from everything else is that it smells like The Mama.