Sunny Bunnies

My youngest granddaughter is going to be two in a few short days. It’s a joy—and that really is the right word—to watch her watch the world, and to bear witness to the things she finds most fascinating: dolls, babies, anything with wheels—strollers, skateboards, bicycles, cars—running, jumping, climbing, throwing things, water, all animals, YouTube Kids, and things that are soft—pillows, blankets, and plushies.

During the Easter holiday, one of her neighbors had a miniature bunny perched outside of their door, and every time she’d pass by, she’d pat the bunny on the head and say, “bun bun.” Of course she wanted to take bun-bun, kidnap him, squish him, kiss him, and keep him for her own, but her parents kept that impulse in check. “Say bye to bun-bun,” they’d say. “Bye, bun-bun,” she’d say, in a miniature, very forlorn voice that she’d picked up somewhere on earth in her last 22 months of inhabitation.

As her grandmother, I think she should, of course, have bun-bun. She should have all the bun-buns. She should know nothing but unrestrained joy. No nos. Just yeses. I know this is impossible. Not even preferred. There is no joy without having experienced its opposite. Clearly. I know this; I have picked this up, resoundingly so, somewhere on earth in my last 687 months of inhabitation.

But bun-bun experiences, however small, have their poignancy. And so in June, an eon after Easter in toddler time, I paid tribute to bun-bun in the form of an applique stitched on a quilted pillow with a Dresden Plate for a sun. I named the pillow Sunny Bunny in honor of my sunny bunny—the wee almost-two-year-old that so fascinates me. I gave her the pillow and she jumped up and down—she really did. She pointed out bun bun and smiled at me like someone who gets it. Yet another small earthly nuance she’s picked up on. As she laid down that first night on the sunny bunny pillow, she had her tablet firmly in hand—YouTube Kids streaming—and she was careful to keep the memorialized bun-bun within her side-eyed periphery. And after she’d steal a glance, at that bunny going nowhere, she’d smile.

Cheers from the bright side.

Tracey