Each time I’ve looked at my old sock monkey I’ve thought it fitting that he has apparently aged right along with me. Now discolored and full of sags, bulges, and wrinkles, my quaintly misshapen friend was once firm, smooth, and bright. As I age, so does he. On one of my last visits after my mother had her stroke, she gave me a tiny sock monkey. My two sock monkeys have sat together on my bicycle since my move in a year and a half ago. It wasn’t until this morning while I gathered laundry, though, that I realized: this whole time my sock monkey had been helping with his granddaughter, too.