Touchy-Feely, Texture-Needy

I used to have a Yellow Blanket (Yes, it must be capitalized. It was like a person to me.). It was soft in the middle, and had a silky binding, which I would rub on my face, on other people's faces, and then contentedly shove it up my nose. Don't ask. I don't know.

At some point, the dryer "ate" it, or some such thing, and I was bereft of my yellow friend. So, not to be outdone by Mom, I promptly went to the linen closet and selected the largest blanket I could find (a queen size, hand-tied quilt) and dragged that behind me everywhere I went, and periodically shoved it (and every other blanket I could find) up my nose just for good measure.

I must have gotten tired of lugging that giant thing around, because I don't remember doing it for long. I think I was approaching that age when all blankets cease to be something you wrap yourself in (or shove up your nostril), and become the foundation of a tent, or, more likely, a wind tunnel. What?? Don't tell me you have NEVER wrapped a blanket around the outside of a fan and created your own wind tunnel?? Try it. You will never go back to just carrying your blanket around...er..assuming you still carry one around...if you do, and you are reading this, you might have a problem.

Anyway, I guess I really didn't think about the impact a blanket has on a person after that, until I had my own kids.

Joshua would SCREAM if he didn't have his Blue Hug. He managed to unravel the poor thing, and I had to reincarnate it. It HAD to be the right shade of blue. It HAD to be soft yarn. IT HAD TO BE. Now, after killing two innocent afghans, Joshua is lugging around a Blue-Purple-Pink Hug, which was supposed to be for Eva, but Eva has her own idea of what is best...

She must have been a year and a half old or so, and she still didn't have her very own special blanket. So, I sat her in the cart at Wal-Mart and handed her blanket after blanket. She threw all of them on the floor until she found the right one. She would (and still does) lay down with it and rub the silky little "Made Of" tag on her face, and rub it on other people's faces (mostly mine), and it is still a struggle to get her to relinquish it so I can wash the scuzzy thing twice a year.

Then there is Lily.

She is of Joshua's making. It HAS to be Purple, it HAS to be ultra soft, and it HAS to smell slightly of milk (ew). When she settles down for a nap, or for bedtime, she will grasp her bottle and put the edge of her blanket across her nose and hold onto it firmly, like she is afraid it will disappear. A few weeks ago, she had thrown up on her blanket, and it went into the wash, and I had forgotten to put it in the dryer. Even though she was exhausted, she would NOT go to sleep. She screamed and scream until Jeremy brought the slightly damp afghan to her, and she fell asleep as he dropped it on her.

I made the mistake of, yet again, trying to wash the blanket yesterday, but it was sprouting legs, and I was afraid it was going to wander off. I, again, forgot to put it in the dryer, but the problem THIS time, was it was an hour and a half past bedtime, and Jeremy and I would be asleep before the blanket was even semi-dry. So, I rushed into Eva's room and grabbed one of the afghans I had crocheted for her (which she rejected...wrong texture), and, with the lights out, gave it to Lily. She knew something was up, but it felt sorta the same, so she let it go. This morning was another story, however, and after I put her down for her nap, she began to cry....and cry...and cry...I finally went in there and she was on her back looking dejected, with the foul pink Evaghan lying next to her untouched. I felt kinda bad for it. Once I gave Lily her own blanket back, she gave one last cry (that sounded like "How could you??") and went to sleep.

I think with Baby X, I am going to just rotate the blankets every day so that they won't have a complex. Right.