A blanket changed my life when Ramona was about 9 months old. You experienced moms can go ahead and laugh at me (and believe me, they have), I am petrified of babies and blankets. It's not my fault. Nurses brainwashed me during my pregnancy.
So, my Ramona, even in the dead of winter got no blanket. When Ramona was about 8 months old, I grew very weary of getting up to nurse once or twice a night. I fretted a lot that she should be learning to sleep through the night. I consulted several sources and they all talked about "loveys". Introduce a lovey. I tried a tiny blanket with a bear head. Didn't work. Then, because I was cold, I started wrapping Ramona and myself in a small crochet baby blanket while nursing at night. Nursing in the dark, with the thing pulled to my chin, I could almost believe I was still in bed. And then the soft little thing started making its way back to the crib. Night after night. And after awhile, Ramona slept through the night. Magic. Soft, subtle, slow, easy magic.
The blanket is not that special. It wasn't given by a beloved family member. Just a little something someone made for a baby. Any baby. But it happened to be my baby.
In the last week or so it has become obvious that Ramona has outgrown the old pink baby blanket. It's gotten cold at night and she needs real warmth. My mom vows to make her something special. Something wonderful. But in the meantime, she lent me a real wonder. A toddler sized afghan that my sister slept under, made by our great grandmother.
When I spread it over her at bedtime, Ramona wiggled with pleasure. Under its weight. Under its warmth. Old pink is in there too, snuggled in her arms. Tonight, I'm thankful for the goodness of it all.
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