You have probably discovered by now that your primary carer cannot wait to bin you off with anyone who will have you. Despite being desperate to bring you into the world, your massively differing body clock seems to cause your grown up to have psychotic episodes and be really ill, or whatever.
Screaming till you choke on your own spit and clinging to their leg is futile. Grown up brains are underdeveloped and lack the ability empathise with your emotion. They’ll always prioritise ‘I desperately need a poo’ or ‘if I don’t eat something, I’ll die’ over your emotional well being.
This is when you need to invest in a Transition Object; an object that can serve as a replacement when your mother – so called -pisses off to ‘earn money to live’ or some other bullshit excuse in an attempt to make her look less selfish.
Selecting a TO requires careful planning and research. It needs to fit a very specific criteria in order to get your grown up working in complete harmony with your needs. It doesn’t just serve to comfort you but can be used for bargaining, manipulation and all other forms of skulduggery normally observed in an adult human mother when trying to get you to sleep in your own bed/not piss yourself/smile in photographs. So, here is my handy guide to help you make a good choice:
It is important to consider when choosing a TO that you will be carrying it with you at all times, day and night. Having a TO that is average size (a generic teddy bear size) is pointless. It either needs to be larger than a five year old, or small enough to fit in the palm of your hand making it incredibly troublesome to a) carry or b) find*.
Because it’ll either be being permanently dragged through exfoliated skin cells, animal hair, mud, puddles of your own urine or being clutched in a sweaty, greasy little hand, it needs to be a neutral shade of beige to fully display the collection of crusty matter. This will also come in very handy for the next point as it makes it disappear easily amongst the rest of the detritus.
An inconveniently large TO ideally needs to be a blanket to aid with the dragging through crap process as well as the getting lost regularly saga. A tiny teddy or stuffed animal of indiscernible species is also ideal for this very important part of TO ownership. It is essential that the TO is lost at least once in the bed covers, every night. This is to ensure your grown up doesn’t get too much sleep; sleep causes cancer so you will be helping them live longer.
Perhaps once every six months, lose the TO in the local area – far enough away that your grown up has to employ the efforts of international rescue, but not too far that it is gone forever. High anxiety situations such as this keeps your grown up’s skin looking more youthful.
If you feel like your grown up has been particularly emotionally unavailable, then you will need to lose it in a motorway service station. Despite the fact you will go through extreme grief during this difficult time, your grown up will suddenly possess powers of omnipotence to be at your beckon call, usually with large amounts of chocolate.
Due to the power a TO has to possess to fully ensure the grown up conforms when required, it needs to be either a) expensive (think Build-a-Bear) or b) irreplaceable. Ebay needs to be redundant and no amount of frantic internet searching will be able to locate anything like it on Earth.
This is also why it is imperative that you never let your grown up wash it. If, God forbid, another child does have the same TO as you, you can at least guarantee, by the no washing rule, that it won’t be covered in the same crusty shit, or emit the same cheesy smell that yours does.
Despite the fact you have employed its services to act as a replacement for when your grown up has disappeared again ‘treating yet another head lice infestation’, know that your TO will never let you down, always be there for you and will comfort you when you’re left on your own in front of Cbeebies…again. The sooner you get one, the less likely you’ll end up addicted to crack and yo yo-ing in and out of prison. Trust me, I’ve been there.