When I was pregnant with Cole, a lot of people gave me lots of nice stuff. One of the things was a handmade, stitched Pooh blanket. It came from my employer; I took care of her elderly mother and she signed my paychecks. But she loved to sew and quilt, and gave me the Pooh blanket right before I gave birth. You know when you have a baby they have a million blankets, and I would take one out of his drawer and cover him up, not thinking anything about it. But somewhere along the line, the Pooh blanket became *special.*
You see, there is a very specific ritual of blanket tucking in before bed. We put the sheet and comforter on first, followed by the Cars fleece blanket, another sports blanket on the side, and then the Pooh blanket over top of everything. While he is falling asleep, Cole will rub the edge of the blanket in between his fingers. If he is feeling tired or in need of comfort, a rub from the Pooh blanket will help a lot. He’s been sleeping with this blanket arrangement for at least three years, and the Pooh one since birth.
So the other day when he wanted to take the blanket to my MIL because he was still a little sleepy in the morning, I said sure. And it was fine and we went on with our day, until bedtime, when I realized….
I HAD FORGOTTEN TO BRING HOME THE POOH BLANKET.
The world stopped. Tears were shed, on both of our faces. I felt horrible. Bad mommy moment, that one. I apologized profusely, and he, pitifully, through his sad sobs, said, “It’s okay, it’s okay.” That was even more sad than forgetting the blanket, the fact that he was taking it so stoically and reasurring me. Oh, I felt so bad. We made a (poor) substitute with another blanket, but we all know that it wasn’t the same. His fingers were just itching for that blanket. So today as soon as I get off work I will be going to retrieve the blanket, and the world should be back in alignment before bedtime.
Never, never forget the blanket at bedtime. Never.