My daughter has a stuffed bunny rabbit that somehow ended up with the name "Mr Bun Bun". That's "Bun Bun" for short, which fits in with the other uniquely named items in our house such as Dum Dum (Dummy), Bot Bot (Bottle) and Bum Bum (Bottoms).
Mr Bun Bun is an interesting looking guy. He started out all cute and cuddly, a gift from a friend at my baby shower, but was soon carted everywhere from the park to overseas holidays, and now looks like he's been living life on the streets for at least ten years. Sadly, he is not even a full two years old - he is actually a replacement for the original bun bun, who was sacrificed somewhere on the cobbled streets of a small French village. He was bought for H on her first birthday from her Great Nanna, making him one next month.
Mr Bun Bun II has become even more of an attachment than his predecessor, which means he comes EVERYWHERE with us. Literally everywhere. I try to "forget" him as often as possible because GOD FORBID we're out and another child tries to take him (the horror!) but when I do it's often more trouble than it's worth. Mr Bun Bun is the one, ahem, 'person' guaranteed to soothe a tantrum and help us get from A to B with minimum drama.
The sad side effect of taking Mr Bun Bun wherever we go is that he frequently gets lost. On each occasion that he does go missing, I quake with fear - what will we do without him? We can't replace him - we've tried that. And anyway, he's basically a member of the family. It would just be too sad.
Thankfully it appears Mr Bun Bun has nine lives. More, actually. Try and try again, you just can't keep him down.
He's been lost at daycare, of course, multiple times. In fact he's even been taken home by another child with a verrrrry similar but not-quite-the-same bunny. But we've sorted those ones out.
Then there was the time he was left in a busy park. Overnight. I thought he was a goner. We returned at 7am the next day to find him, covered in a thin layer of dew and sitting up comfortably on a park bench.
We thought we'd never see him again when he disappeared on a long walk between home and our local play centre. The next time we visited the centre I looked in the lost property basket on a hunch and there, low and behold, was Mr Bun Bun. I almost cried that time.
How about in Auckland, when he vanished somewhere in the suburb of Newmarket, where I'd been in and out of approximately 50 shops. I retraced my steps PERFECTLY and found nothing, returning to the car despondent and buying H a really ugly soft toy called "Ugly Bear" to compensate. Driving back I was struck with genius - "THE CUPCAKE SHOP!" - and quickly chucked a U-ey with one last futile hope. He was there.
Just last weekend he was dropped on a bushwalk, but the couple who came down the track after us recognised him as a beloved treasure and propped him up on the side of the track where we couldn't miss him.
And then, finally, there was this weekend past, when we drove north to my parents and realised when we got there he was gone. Dimly, I remembered H playing with him when we got our coffee that morning and thinking to myself "Don't forget Mr Bun Bun." My hopes were low. Surely, I thought, his lives are up.
We walked up the road at 6pm last night, not even thinking the cafe would be open, but it was! At 6pm! On a Sunday! I walked inside with a look of what I hoped was desperation on my face.
"Has anyone handed in a really dilapidated looking bunny?"
"YES! He's out in the back room."
Of course he is. The girls in the cafe looked very excited to have had the bunny claimed, and came out making funny voices and wiggling him at my daughter, who screamed "BUN BUN!!!" in pure delight.
"We thought he looked very loved," said one of the girls.
You don't know the half of it.
Z x
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