Duckie? Where are you?

It is, at the same time, both endearing and almost pathetically heart-rending.

Medium came downstairs about half an hour ago, because she was "scratchy."  Hubby applied lotion to her back, where it was the most itchy, and then she said she had to go potty.  She wandered to the half bath down here, her footie jammies trailing behind her.

Duckie, of course, had come downstairs with her.

And he got left behind on the loveseat next to Hubby when she concluded her potty business.

From the monitor, we hear this:

"Duckie?  Where are you?  Duckie?"

I glanced around quickly and spotted Duckie at the end of the loveseat, before Medium's plaintive cries became shrieks of despair.  (She's done this before, calling desperately for him, so I know she'll escalate.)

"Medium, he's down here," Hubby called up.

Medium wanders sleepily back downstairs, and her tired face lights up when she sees Duckie in Hubby's outstretched hand.  Her thumb popped into her mouth and Duckie was tucked securely under her chin.

"Go back up to bed.  Pull your blankets over yourself," Hubby said gently.  "And go to sleep."

Which is pretty much exactly what she did.