Maddie’s threadbare blanket is a non-color. It used to be pink, and now it’s not quite white. I don’t think the current color exists in a box of Crayolas. It is so thin that it’s barely existent. It has quite a few holes, and the thick seam around the edge has long been torn off.
We brought Maddie home from the hospital in that blanket. My mom showed up at the hospital with a pink sleeper and a matching hat and pink blanket. I wrapped all 7 pounds 8 ounces of Maddie up in that pink blanket and put her in the carseat to take her home.
Once Maddie started to walk and talk, she insisted on bringing her bankie with her to daycare and to the store and anywhere we went in the car. Bankie has been washed and dried more times than I could count. Bankie has been peed on, drooled on, dropped in puddles, stepped on, almost-lost, and found again. We don’t take Bankie out of the house anymore; the risk is too great.
Now, Maddie is 3 years old, and she uses her blanket to pretend to be a ghost, to peek-a-boo her baby sister, to wrap up her dolls, and to have fake picnics in the living room. She still sleeps with her blanket every night.
Tonight, I looked at that blanket that used to be pink and remembered when it was as new as Maddie. I remembered a slightly younger me walking through the door of our house with a new baby and a new blanket and a heart full of love so deep it brought tears to my eyes.
Someday, I know we will pack that blanket away in a box. Someday, Maddie will be too big to sleep with her blanket. That saddens me, and I wish I could just freeze us here in this moment in time… me and Kate and my husband and Maddie and her blanket that used to be pink.