Earlier this week, I woke up in the middle of the night to find my blanket wrapped around my throat. Yes, my baby blanket tried to strangle me. After 25 years of love and devotion, it tried to kill me.
As it is now practically nothing but the binding, the day I have been dreading for years is fast approaching: what to do when my blanket disintegrates into nothing. Obviously I will have to take the day off work, lie in bad with the curtains drawn, with a warm compress applied to my forehead while sobbing.
Right now I am Googling "1983 sesame street baby blanket," but so far nothing that resembles mine. Of course, I don't know exactly what mine is supposed to look like so I will have to consult some pictures, but I think I'll know it when I see it. (I'm not sure I would though since mine was reconstructed by my Mamaw circa 1989 and had the binding replaced an infinite amount of times by my mother.)
I've had it since the day I was born. I lost it the week before I left for college, an already trying time, and thought I was going to have a breakdown. Aside from my first trip to Europe, it has been with me through every phase of my life. I sleep with/sit with/walk around with my favorite corner over my mouth, so that now, if I'm at work or anywhere else and need comfort, I'll put my sleeve over my mouth to replicate the feeling. It is the first thing I grab when I'm sad or mad or have the mean reds.
There was an episode of Oprah I saw years ago where they discussed people's comfort objects. One woman in the audience stood up to say that every night she kissed her husband goodnight, and then her blanket. No husband on the horizon to kiss goodnight, but at least for a little while longer I'll have the blanket. I hope.
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