Rosie’s Diner

Last Monday night I snuggled into bed, my head heavy on my big fluffy pillow, drifting into that state between being awake but on the verge of sleep and like I always do when I get to that point, I reached out for my baby pillow.  BUT IT WASN’T THERE!  I checked underneath the pillows, underneath Maxine and pretty much underneath Ivan and his pillows which are lumpy and too soft and not as nice or as many as mine are.  NO BABY PILLOW.  If Monday hadn’t been such a shi*ty day and I wasn’t so tired I would very likely have woken up every living person in the house to look for it, but in my fatigue induced stupor I simply padded over barefoot to Alie’s room and stole one of her four baby pillows.  Unlike me, Alie is not emotionally attached to her baby pillows.  Unlike me, Alie hasn’t slept with her baby pillow (the same one, mind you) for the past 19 years.  So I figured she wouldn’t miss it and I could sleep, pretending this flat piece of cloth, hardly what I would call a pillow, was my faithful sleeping companion.

I love my baby pillow.  Love as in love more than I actually like some people!  I love my baby pillow more than I actually love my oldest sister.  That pillow has been with me to every part of the world I have been to: Sweden, Australia, Hong Kong, Bangkok, the U.S. and Indonesia.  In fact, my baby pillow is my in-flight companion despite the fact that almost all airlines have great smelling, fluffy baby pillows for each of their passengers.  Who needs those impostor baby pillows when I have my old faithful? 

That pillow has been with me when I’ve given birth to Alie and Maxine and when doctors have insisted that I leave the baby pillow in the labor room since its not "sanitized" I have looked them straight in the eye despite enormously painful contractions and dared them, double dared them, to take it away from me.  In fact, almost every time I am rushed to the hospital for a hypo or hyper attack, my baby pillow has been by my side, even if I’m unconscious.  The last time I remember not sleeping the night with BP was in Sweden when I lost consciousness in the middle of the street and all my luggage was left in the salon where I had just had my hair cut.  The night I spent in that Swedish hospital, BP must have been wondering where in heaven’s name I had gone off to!  That was 8 long years ago.  Baby Pillow and I haven’t slept a night apart since then.

So the question on Tuesday morning was, "WHERE IS MY BABY PILLOW!?"  As suspected (and dreaded), the maid washed it.  WASHED IT AS IN SOAKED IT IN WATER! I tried to blow dry it but it didn’t do any good.  Of course, I didn’t need to ask her WHY.  She washed it because Maxine peed on it when she was playing on my bed.  You have no idea how it felt to see and feel my baby pillow in lumps.  It was no longer a pillow.  It was a sack of marbles.

I gave it a day under the sunshine to get dry and then another day just for extra measure, but when I came home last night, it was still a sack of marbles.  Smelly damp marbles at that!

Worse, no one, and I mean no one could understand my despair at this heinous crime that had been committed against my pillow!  Thank goodness Anna was home when I called to wail to her about it.  In fact, she had a wonderful idea.  Take it to the laundromat.  Have them put it in the clothes drier.  If it hadn’t been 9 in the evening I would have hung up and gone directly to the nearest cleaner and had it done but instead, I had to wait patiently till this morning.

This morning, I went straight to the cleaners before work.  Took my pitiful sack of marbles lovingly out of the plastic bag I had wrapped it in and lied myself blue in the face.  I explained to the cleaners’ lady that my 10 year old daughter loved her stinky pillow madly and that our well meaning maid had washed it.  Now that the pillow had turned to a pile of clumps my daughter was having a fit every night because she couldn’t sleep without it.  The cleaner lady looked at me knowingly and said, "Don’t worry ma’am.  I will put it through the washer again so it will smell good and then I will dry it.  It’ll be fine by this afternoon.  You can pick it up then and it won’t cost that much either.  It’s just a small pillow anyway." 

I almost kissed her!  Yes, I am highly ashamed of myself for lying…for denying my baby pillow! But it doesn’t matter much so long as I get it back and its alive, ALIVE again! It’s kind of sad that 19 years of international dirt, sweat from various er um individuals who shall remain nameless who have been lucky enough to sleep with me and my pillow and particles of my past have all been washed away now but I think what is truly important is my pillow and not my pillow dirt so to speak.

I’m in the office now anxiously awaiting this evening when I go and pick up my beloved baby pillow from the laundromat.  When I die, my baby pillow will either be cremated along with me or one of my daughters will get it.  Whatever happens though, I think I’m going to sleep pretty good tonight.