The 2nd Life of Blankie

I don’t know WHAT he smells when he puts his blanket up to his nose for a deep sniff…but I know why he does so. I had a blanket growing up too. Here, have a look at a few pictures for a moment.

Notice anything about these pictures? One picture is of me as a toddler, the other is of my son when he was three. He is now 7 years old. The resemblance is striking, right?! Uncanny. Notice anything else? How about the blanket in each of the pictures?

You guessed it, they are the exact same blanket.

My mother had just graduated from college and was working as a social worker in a nursing home in New Mexico. She befriended an Apache woman who crocheted often to pass the time. Before I was even a twinge in my mother’s ovaries, a blanket was bestowed to her: “Give this to your first born child,” said the patient. Sounds like something out of a movie, right? Made of the buttery-est softest yarn, Blankie is pale blue, white, and pink. My mother lovingly tucked away the blanket in her cedar chest until years later when I was born in upstate New York. A long journey from a nursing home in New Mexico.

Blankie was my sidekick throughout most of my young life. Blankie is a she. I don’t know why I’ve given a gender to my blanket…but we always refer to her as “she”. Leaving her at the babysitter’s house resulted in sleepless nights for both me and my parents. She went on every trip and adventure I took…my trusty and warm sleeping companion. I nuzzled my face in her soft weaves of yarn. She dried my tears and wiped my boogies when I cried. I wrapped my baby dolls up with her. I even wrapped up my cats that reluctantly let me play with them and dress them in doll clothes. And when I went away to college she was packed away in the linen closet at my parent’s home. Upon returning from school for a break or vacation, I would often find her while looking for a clean towel or extra set of sheets. I’d spot Blankie on a shelf, folded neatly, quietly awaiting my arrival. And like old times, I’d smell her. She would smell fresh like clean clothes, but underneath that smell was something else. I can’t articulate it…but it was a smell that instantly calmed me and made me smile.

Years later, in 2008 in Chicago, Henry was born. After 18 hours of labor and a painful forcepts birth he was born and introduced to Blankie in the wee hours of the morning. I knew that it was time for him to have her. Miraculously, she was still in wonderful condition. I might add that my mother tirelessly wove a new blanket for him that he likes, but not as much as Blankie. With each nap or crying jag I would wrap Henry up with Blankie. And before long he started asking for her when he slept or he was sad. But he didn’t ask for Blankie. Instead he asked for “Badda.” And a new name was born. Blankie was mine…and now Badda was his blanket. Even thought they were the same blanket. I relinquished the ownership. And it wasn’t hard because I could see that he too loved her just as much as I did/do.

Badda has gone on extraordinary adventures with Henry.

Plane rides, Halloween outings, clam shacks in Cape Cod, Costa Rica, New Mexico, and more. She was only thrown out of the stroller once in Chicago. Without noticing we walked by her and didn’t realize until a half hour later. The panic that set my heart racing was something I had never felt before as a new parent. How could Henry lose her?! My husband back tracked and found her on the dirty sidewalk near Michigan Ave. She wasn’t stolen, even though countless people walked by her. You know why she wasn’t stolen? Because those people that saw her…they too once had a special blanket. And they too knew that someone would come back to rescue her…and we did.

Badda is now 40 plus years old…older than me and certainly older than my son.

She is coming unraveled in various places. I don’t knit or crochet, so I tie little knots in her so that she won’t come apart. It’s futile as her original yarn is starting to disintegrate with time. If a large hole forms, I try and sew in more knots with yarn that I bought at Joann’s Fabric. It isn’t the same fabric, but it’ll do…if only to keep Badda in her original rectangle-like shape. These days she is not allowed at school or at the grocery store. On the other hand, he doesn’t feel the need to bring her to these places anymore. Henry still sleeps with her every night. I sometimes check on him before I go to bed only to see Badda laid across his chest as if he is wearing a fur wrap. The nights that I fix Badda are the only nights that my son sleeps without her. And even when I’m up late fixing her, I quietly bring her back to his bed and he sleepily takes her and drifts back into deep sleep. He still carries her in his backpack when we fly on the airplane. We find our assigned seats on the plane and he immediately takes her out to give her a sniff before settling in to his games on his Ipad or Lego assembling.

I don’t worry about how long Henry will have his blanket. I don’t see it as an unhealthy relationship. Like everything with childhood, he will naturally grow out of wanting to have a blanket by his side. Or maybe friends will come over and make fun of him for all of his stuffed animals and Badda. Or maybe they won’t…because they too know that blankets occupy a special place in our hearts.

When time allows, I make Henry’s bed for him after he’s gone to school. Nestled next to his pillow and his beloved Monkey, is Badda. She is still light pink, blue, and white and the softest blanket I’ve ever felt. She is a little raggedy around the edges with grey-ish overtones. Some days she smells just like Henry does after a bath…or sometimes she smells of drool and dirty feet. But every time I smell her it reminds me of my childhood. And I feel safe, and warm, and I know everything will be ok…if only for those few minutes. It’s magical.

Do you have memories of your blanket?