You might assume that’s a pet name I’ve chosen for any one of my four fabulous guys, but you would be wrong. “My Guy” is what Dean whimpers from his crib first thing in the morning. “Mmmmy gggguy!!!” It’s who he clamors for whenever “My Guy” is not safely procured in his tiny clutches. It’s who my baby wants to bury in the sand, again and again so he can ask me, “Where my guy, Mom? Where my guy?” then pause dramatically, set his eyes to Glimmer and…wait for it… “Here he is!!” he’ll cheer! This game never gets old. So who is “my guy,” you ask?
Take a looksie:
Yup. That’s My Guy. An irreplacable, discontinued Imaginext soldier. If you ever wanted to find his twin, you’d need a Good Luck Fairy and an Ebay account.
When My Guy is safely tucked into Dean’s tiny palm: Dr. Jekyll. When My Guy goes MIA: Mr. Hyde. We’ve already had a few scares. Remember that “let’s bury My Guy in the sand and dig him up again” game? Sometimes he’s not so easy to find. Sometimes My Guy thinks it would be hilarious to send his master’s mommy into a whirling, sand scanning panic.
“AH! MY GUY!! MY GUY!!” Dean wails frantically whenever My Guy doesn’t reveal himself within the first two digs. So then I start to dig. Then I get frantic. Then I pull out the plastic rake that came with our deluxe sand toy set and start combing….and raking…and combing. “Is there any such thing as a plastic toy detector?” I offer out loud to the ocean breeze. No. No! It can’t be. He has to be here somewhere! Somewhere on this beach, dagnabbit! He can’t just walk off and…
“Here he is!!”
Whew. That was close. It takes a while for my heart rate settle back down. I’ll tell you, that My Guy has one sick sense of humor sometimes.
That notwithstanding, My Guy has been a true blue friend to Dean this summer. He’s been his bed buddy, his high chair buddy, his stroller buddy, and most impressively his beach buddy all week.
I’m telling ya from the start I can’t be torn apart from my guy.