Stuffed toy gift triggers regress into childhood

People have told me I’m mature for my age since I was three, and this has always given me a smug sense of superiority.

Since I crossed the threshold into legal adulthood, this has only gotten worse. Any time I do indulge in anything remotely childlike — like, say, enjoying wearing an adult onesie — I tell myself I do so in an ironic and knowing way.

I try quite hard to be tough and responsible and to deal with things on my own. This tends to have varied results.

Last Friday, I found a sizeable package sitting outside the door of my apartment. A friend back home had mentioned she was sending me something — a belated Christmas gift — and sure enough this was it.  I’d had a stressful week and knew more were to follow, so this was just the pick-me-up I needed.

A rip of the packaging tape later, the gift was staring nonchalantly up at me: a stuffed owl the size of my torso with the words “Whooooooo Loves You?” on its chest.

My first thought: “This is massive. I live in a dorm. What am I supposed to do with this?”

As if to test its merit, I gave the owl a hug and then held it at arm’s length.

My second thought: “I love him. I will name him Doctor Hoot.”

Doctor Hoot, with his knowing gaze, helped me come to a realization this weekend. Like the proud and mature adult I am, I dealt with my stress by reverting to a childlike state of naps, Nintendo and hugging my stuffed animal.

This continued for two days straight while I sat in my room and stared at my list of impending deadlines. I shuffled around the apartment only when hunger or nature’s call persuaded me out of bed.

That Sunday, when the dread of the coming week was at an all-time high, I caught sight of myself in the mirror and took a good look. My hair wasn’t brushed, I was living on Chef Boyardee and the horned-hood of my Spyro the Dragon onesie sat lopsided on top of my head.

“I turn 21 next month,” I muttered to myself.

I glanced toward my bed. Doctor Hoot looked back at me skeptically. He had a point. With newfound resolve, I cleaned myself up and got to work getting organized for what this week would bring.

I’d always taken so much pride in being told I acted like a grown up that I’d lost sight of what being a grown up really means.

It doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate a warm onesie on a wintry day or the occasional stuffed animal. More importantly, it doesn’t mean I’m not stressed or tired or scared.

Being an adult means being scared but doing what needs to be done anyway.
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It also means talking out your problems with someone who cares.

Granted, it is preferred that your confidante not be a stuffed owl…but you’re an adult. You can make your own decisions.

Read Jackie’s latest column.