Bavo

Who is Bavo? 

The short answer is, I don't know. The long answer is, we are all Bavo. Bavo is us.

"Bavo" is the name you like to apply to dolls and stuffed animals. This has been the case for a couple of months. My favorite part of this phenomenon is, each time we ask you the name of an animal or toy, you give it serious thought.

"Hmmm," you say, looking critically at said toy. Then all at once, it comes to you: "Bavo!"

You have a Bavo who is a baby doll with braids, and today you took a Bavo to school, who is a little ambiguously sexed and raced doll from your Montessori play kit subscription, who was wearing a Hawaiian shirt over the regular outfit, which you informed me was Bavo's jacket. In the taxi you told your dad that this was Bavo's first time in a taxicab (casapab). A stuffed dog is Bavo, and I think maybe Panda has also been Bavo. But a Panda Bavo.

There are some stuffies who have their own names. Baby Faff, aka Charles Faff, and Mama Faff and Daddy Faff. Wolfie the wolf, though I suggested that name, so maybe it doesn't count. Panda, who is sometimes also Bavo. Sometimes your Fisher Price Little People also get to be Bavo.

I'm not sure if Bavo comes from "Bravo!" which I occasionally say to you as means of encouragement. But Bavo is here, and we are Bavo, and also I love you.

You are also two days into being a hardcore scooter rider. You are philosophical at the occasional wipeout, which I really admire. You are lighting fast and getting good at steering and your helmet looks like an enormous yellow puffer fish, which brings smiles to the faces of the most dour morning commuters in Manhattan. Especially when paired with your deadly serious mien.

Bravo, Bavo.