He ran down the hallway and disappeared into my room. I found him our bed, hiding behind the curtain, calling, "Where are you? Where are you?" (Which means he wants me to ask where he is and then make a great show of looking for him.)
It was definitely time. "Giraffey" was looking sad and grey and was in dire need of a dose of soapy water and sunshine. I really wasn't sure how to go about this, as Giraffey is a much treasured part of everything that happens at home: eating, sleeping and playing. So, with a sunny morning forecast, I crept into his room at 5am, unpeeled his arms from Giraffey, washed him and hung him to dry (making sure that plenty of other laundry was hanging in between Giraffey and any potential viewing areas.) We then spent the morning distracting him whenever he asked, "Where's Giraffey?" Thankfully, we went out for most of the morning and Giraffey was dry by nap time.
During the whole expedition, from sneaking, to washing, to distracting, I kept asking myself, "Is this really what I've become?!" Oh dear.