By Caroline Shannon-Karasik
My husband and I have what we call Brave Little Toaster syndrome. It’s our theory that the ’80s Disney movie that assigned feelings and personalities to inanimate objects officially scarred us for life. To this day, our 33-year-old selves will see a stuffed animal on the side of the highway and not only mourn the fact that it lost its human, but that we can’t cross four lanes of moving traffic to rescue it. When we had our daughter Claire, we had no idea how to choose a lovey that was a safe and comfortable choice for her, but we knew it was inevitable she would cling to something given her lineage. Still, we weren’t sure: What was the best choice for her?