My husband and I have a dog and a cat; our toddler has Baby Monkey. Much like a pet, Baby Monkey joins us in various family activities. Last night, we took the dog and Baby Monkey to the park where my husband pushed him on the swings ( Baby Monkey that is, the dog would never sit on a swing). Today, we put him in the refrigerator in order to rescue him from the egg shelf, all of this before we invited him to join us for lunch (” You wanna eat sketti, Baby Monkey? ” ) In the past two years this one dollar monkey has caused me to say and do some of the most ridiculous things I never imagined. When I was teaching, the boy’s baby sitter was close to my job so we drove 45 minutes each day and Lincoln hated every second of it. He would yell his nine month old heart out. But if Baby Monkey was in the car seat with him, he didn’t protest quite so much. I can remember frantically searching the house for Baby Monkey at the risk of almost being late for work because ,”We need Baby Monkey in the car!! ” ( credit to my husband for actually helping me look instead of telling me I was insane). When Lincoln went into the hospital for dehydration from a virus, Baby Monkey came too. And Baby Monkey slept next to him and didn’t mind the IV. Baby Monkey never complains when Lincoln washes him in the dog’s water bowl. I have learned to sneak Baby Monkey into the dryer though cause that’s a devastating experience for everyone. Just like a pet, Baby Monkey is referred to and accounted for multiple times a day. He is involved in the intimate workings of our household. And because I wasn’t smart enough to buy two of him, he is irreplaceable. So there you have it, the difference between life pre and post child is the value and merit of a six inch stuffed monkey.