In my post, “Fighting to Keep My Entire Self from the Black Hole”, I wrote about the things that have kept me going recently, but the adorable new Jellycats that joined our fluffy family deserved their own post for how they even shone through the black hole of anhedonia and depression I’ve been experiencing.

My 19 year old son bought me the new Jellycats. Those cute, thoughtful jellycats are more than just gifts — they’re a reflection of how my son supports me in his unique, empathetic way, without either of us breaking boundaries or expecting more than we should. He’s my light, still visible even near the black hole. My all-seeing, all-knowing space baby (from 2001: A Space Odyssey). “The Lord of my Galaxy.”

My son and I share a uniquely close and healthy relationship, one I’ve worked hard to build. Breaking the cycle of abuse from my own childhood has been my life’s mission as a mother, especially as someone living with diagnosed mental health issues. Despite the stigma that often suggests parents with severe mental illness can’t be good parents, I’m living proof that they can.

I’ll write more about this journey another time, but for now, I want the focus to be on my son’s incredible support and the love he shows me — like through the Jellycats he’s gifted me recently. Each one carries a deeper meaning, reflecting how he understands and cares for me and lifts me up when I need it most.

The Jellycats he’s gifted me are a perfect example of the balance we’ve created together: thoughtful, empathetic, and boundary-respecting. They’re more than just plushies; they’re a testament to the light we bring to each other without ever dimming our own. They were bought by my son out of love, empathy, and deep thoughtfulness, not obligation or a sense of responsibility to improve my emotional state. It makes these Jellycats even more special.

The Adorably Caffeinated Jellycats

Since the damp squib of my birthday in mid-November, I have faced a LOT of challenges in terms of black holes and their side effects (And yes, the 2nd Law of Thermodynamics agrees: entropy is inevitable, even in my daily life.) Opening the airlock door and taking those tiny steps into recovery has initiated equilibrium — a process I’ve described in detail in my post ‘AirlockED.’ The emotional flood it creates often leaves me feeling like I’m drowning.

Witnessing my brave struggle with the flood and eating anyway, my son made it his mission to cheer me up and brought home an espresso Jellycat — a tiny, ADORABLE plushie full of energy. I had also been wanting the coffee Jellycats for so long.

When he brought home this surprise of a cup of caffeinated fluffiness, it made me cry. The thought, the consideration, the empathy of that gesture — it made me feel so seen. My corrupted Clippy, my broken on board computer, tries to convince me I’m a burden, that he’d be better off without me. But my son’s gestures tell a different story. He celebrates me even when I’m near the black hole, and it means the world to me.

Seeing how much I loved it, 2 days later, he brought home another coffee Jellycat — a larger one, which I think is an Americano (my favourite Starbucks order). Now I have a Mummo and space baby Jellycat coffee. Us, in coffee form.

My son is the espresso — absolutely cute and adorable but also full of energy and punch — and I’m the Americano, a watered down version but valid in my own way. An Americano without espresso, would just be hot water which is how I feel about my son. Without him in my life, I’d still be a person, but something integral would be missing.

The coffee Jellycats, that I love so much, now represent us, our connection, and all the times we’ve spent at Starbucks together. Those trips to Starbucks have been such a lifeline lately, a day trip from the confines of my airlock, a bribe to get me through keeping up with responsibilities while trying to deal with the gravity of a black hole. These adorable coffees also represent how we still manage to celebrate togetherness even on the stressful days.

Sir Isaac Newton the Peanut

Lately, my physical health has been in a flare, adding to the weight of my mental health struggles. For my birthday last month, we had planned to go to Cardiff to shop for Jellycats —a special day out to celebrate. But my health had other ideas.

Cluster headaches, intercostal muscle strains, and crushing fatigue have made even basic responsibilities feel like scaling Mount Everest. As much as I wanted to make that trip happen, it just wasn’t possible. A whole month has passed, and I’ve had to conserve every ounce of energy for the bare essentials due to having NO support network – it really is just my son and I.

I felt so sad about being unable to go ever since, not just for me but for my son, who had been so excited about it. But he came up with the sweetest idea: he went to the Jellycat store by himself, filmed his trip, and let me pick out a Jellycat remotely. “Then it’ll be like you’re with me,” he said.

As he sent me videos from our favourite Jellycat store today (you can see the YouTube short he made out of the clips above) we both knew the Peanut Jellycat was the perfect symbol of this stage in my recovery journey – peanut butter is the MVP of my airlock escape. When I was looking at them in the store, there was no question which one I wanted, there is nothing better than a chonky Jellycat, so I got the chonkiest peanut in the basket.

Now, this chonky little Peanut will forever remind me of this moment: of my bravery in cracking open the airlock door, my son’s incredible empathy and thoughtfulness and us even being together remotely in the Jellycat store.

I decided to name the Peanut “Newton.” My love of physics has been another anchor, keeping me tethered to the ship during these early recovery steps. And, in a hilariously haunting twist, peanut butter is technically a non-Newtonian fluid — a liquid! Newton now makes me smile every time I see him, reminding me of the generosity and empathy of my teen and the sheer horror I felt finding out peanut butter was in fact a liquid – It has HAUNTED me for years!

I Love My All-Seeing All-Knowing Space Baby

I am often blown away by my son, he is thoughtful, caring, empathetic, justice driven, logical, artistic and extremely intelligent both academically and emotionally. He really is such a special person. I’d be in awe of him even if he wasn’t my son for how remarkable and FABULOUS he is. It’s why I call him the all-seeing all-knowing space baby from 2001 : A Space Odyssey.

When I get to the end of the day, and wonder how I keep on keeping on despite all of the suffocating gravity from being sucked into a black hole, there is only one conclusion I can make. It is the love for my son that keeps me moving forward even when forward feels out of reach, impossible or Corrupted Clippy says, “Forward is pointless”.

No matter how much I get spaghettified by the black hole, no matter how far down the tube of circles I spiral, I can always see his light. I always want to do whatever I can to keep living for him, no matter my circumstances or mental health status.

These ADORABLE Jellycats he has bought me (They’re still not as adorable as him though), are a representation of the togetherness we celebrate, my recovery and the need to keep on embracing equilibrium. They remind me that I’m not the burden my Corrupted Clippy says I am – as my son still celebrates me even now. Most importantly these adorable Jellycats are a representation that our love transcends space, time and black holes. They comfort me by reminding me that my space baby’s light will continue to guide me even from the farthest depths of space.

“I hope you don’t mind, I hope you don’t mind, that I put down in words, how wonderful life is, now you’re in the world.”