Blanket A Child in Love

You wouldn’t believe it, but they’ll take the blankie.

So this is Baby Girl, hands on that satin trim already.  In my post What is it About a Blankie, I talk about when I first noticed that Baby Girl was hooked to the corner of her blankie.  She would run her fingers over that pointed satin and it would get her to sleep night after night!

Well, in this pic, you can already see where the habit started.  This is Baby Girl at just a few days old and she already has the corner of the blanket figured out!

That picture was taken moments before I scooped her delicate little body in my arms.  Her back was as soft as peach fuzz.  She was born at the end of November, and yet in this unpredictable Texas weather I had no choice but to let her teeny little body breathe.  It was hot that day.

There are moments, when she’s curled up in my arms, that I can still see that little baby.  Except there are hugs, kisses, and lots of tickles now, and every day is, somehow, sweeter…

I thought I’d share a journal entry with you that I found relevant to the topic of blankets and what they grow to mean to people.  Even adults like myself.

Date: Recent

As I get ready for bed, I am reminded of the days before Baby Girl.  (The picture, above, was taken in those days… Me on the other side of the lense, with Baby Girl curled up in my belly…)  Those quiet moments, in which a day was an hour, and an hour was a day… Every second pregnant with hope, love, and excitement…

I am reminded of those days because tonight, like those nights, there’s an empty peace like no one’s home.  It’s the first night in a long time, that Baby Girl is not curling up on my belly to fall asleep, the satin trim smoothed over her cheek.

I’m sure by now you’ve gotten I’m a single mom.  And usually, my sweet girl, after lots of hugs, kisses, and giggles, will say, “Lay on Mama’s tummmmeee?”  Every night she nestles close, her index finger on pointed satin, her ear listening to my belly button, as I first read a book, and eventually smooth her hair from her relaxed forehead and pearly eyelids.

Tonight is the first night, in a very long time, that she’s doing an overnight with her Papa.  I listen, and nothing.   Empty quiet.  No soft breathing nearby, nope.  There are no cars passing by, no hum of a heater.  Not even a ticking of a clock.  Just the precise, quick sounds of my typing fingers and….. in between… silence.

Yes, definitely reminds me of the days I waited for Baby Girl.  Like tonight, I would get ready for bed, a book by my side, a last sip of that water… Before I turned out the lamp, found that satin edge, and tucked it under my cheek.

You see, before Blankie loved on Baby Girl, I loved on it.  I loved on it with the same anticipation of seeing my baby girl, much like I love on Blankie tonight, with that all-consuming feeling of anticipation at seeing Baby Girl…

“Wait,” you say.  How is it I’m loving on Blankie tonight?  Doesn’t Baby Girl always sleep with her Blankie?

Backup, baby, backup.  I got Baby Girl a Blankie backup which is kept at her Papa’s house.  But Mama?  She’s got the real thing.

And tonight, like those nights just over two years ago, Mama and Blankie will sleep in peace and wait for Baby Girl.

Half a lifetime, or half my lifetime, is the amount of time I’ve been without my blankie.

Except my “blankie” was a pillow.

A sweet pillow, made by my grandmother, that after many washes, somehow still smelled like my grandmother.  You know the grandma smell: sweet, powdery, and just a tad musky.  It was blue with the tiniest hearts and flowers in a tidy little design.

It was a tiny thing, but then again, so was I, and in those days it seemed a “normal” size.  I used to tuck it right under my cheek as I laid on my side, and somehow it was long enough that I was able to easily hug the other end.  There were some mornings that I would wake up in the same position, and my pillow was right where I had put it… And other mornings I would wake up in the same position, but my pillow was on the floor.  Either way, I slept so soundly that I’d always just wake up in the same exact position, right along the edge of the bed, night after night.

I’ve always been a sound sleeper, and I wonder how much of it is due to the habits I picked up in the comfort of that little pillow.  There’s no doubt in my mind the familiarity and comfort it gave me kind of “set me up” emotionally as a child, and even after the pillow was no longer around.

Half my lifetime ago, a devastating thing happened.  I moved with my family, and when all of the boxes were unpacked, and every sock, hanger, and book had found its place, my pillow was nowhere to be found.  The dust settled, the school year resumed, I looked everywhere for it…  And nothing.

I don’t know what got me thinking about it again earlier this year.  Perhaps seeing Baby Girl with her blankie just reminded me of that little pillow.  Not that it’s a big deal – I moved on years ago – and still sleep quite well.  But for some reason, this particular  spring day, as we were visiting my parents, in a home I had never lived in but found cozy, I longed for my pillow.

Now, when I say I longed for it, I mean I suddenly had such a strong desire to bury my face in its softness.  I could feel it just under my cheek, it’s subtle curve just the right amount of cushion to support my neck.  I could even smell it, it’s powdery scent invading my senses, surrounding me in the way I had known so well.

And in an instant I surfaced from my dream, and my eyes caught sight of a small blue item tucked on a closet shelf.  For a minute there it looked just like my… Wait a minute, was it my… Oh my God, I think it’s my….

And just like that, a moment later I had reached, with the help of a stepping stool, of course… my pillow.

I had been away from it for as many years as I had had it near.  And yet, I found myself living the fantasy of moments before.  Except now I was burying my face in its softness.  I could feel it just under my cheek, it’s subtle curve just the right amount of cushion to support my neck.  I could smell it, it’s powdery scent invading my senses, surrounding me in the way I had known so well.

Amazing that it smelled just as I remembered.  Like my grandma.

(Which I guess makes sense because it apparently hadn’t been washed since then.)

She was six month old when I observed a funny behavior.  Baby Girl was exhausted, ready to fall asleep… and yet her eyes, drowsy and half-open, looked for something.  Her hands busily running along the edge of the blanket, searching, eager, and unsatisfied.

“What is she doing?” I thought.  So, I waited to see what she was “looking” for.

Then, I saw it.  Her little fingers reached a corner of the silky satin edge, and immediately her eyelids slowly closed over eyes that rolled back in relief.  Her finger gently moved over the pointed softness for a minute, until little by little, all movement came to a gentle stop.

Baby Girl officially needed the corner of her blanket to fall asleep.

And today, a year-and-a-half later, nothing has changed.  It’s the first thing we grab when her forehead has met the edge of a table or wall… and the last thing she holds onto before drifting to sleep.