True Love is a 28-Year-Old Sharing Their Baby Blanket (with an actual baby)

Listen, Hollywood. We can’t all look like models, or have giant boobs (unless we’re breastfeeding… have I mentioned how awesome that was?), or vacation in St. Bart’s, or date George Clooney. Some of us just look like regular people and date regular guys and have blankets from childhood that we’re totally obsessed with and dependent upon. We’re NORMAL PEOPLE, okay?!

What? You don’t all have baby blankets that you continue to take with you wherever you go (from room to room in the house and on actual vacations)? Blankets whose importance have been so deeply impressed upon your husband that he has promised to rescue it above all else in the event of a fire? Blankets that you take with you in your carry-on bag because you can’t risk the airline losing your baggage? Blankets you once referred to as “more important than you” to an ex-boyfriend, causing a serious fight (this actually happened! I wasn’t joking, either – Quilty was FAR more important to me than he was. I wonder why that relationship didn’t last?)?

I pity you fools who don’t know the love and comfort of a baby blanket! Quilty (very creative name, I know) was lovingly crafted for me by my grandma when I was a baby, and I’ve been attached to it ever since. Perhaps a bit TOO attached – I wasn’t exaggerating when I said I take it with me wherever I go. When I get up in the morning, it comes with me into my office and stays draped on my chair whilst I work (good thing I work from home); when work is over it comes with me out to the couch, and of course I sleep with it every night. As I type this post, Quilty is on my lap, providing a perfect barrier between the laptop and my legs. And I really do take it on vacations (in the carry-on bag!) – it’s been everywhere from Australia to Hawaii to Vegas.

Over the course of my life, I’ve invested a truly pathetic amount of brainspace into concern over Quilty’s safekeeping: what would happen if a fire erupted while I was gone (or even in another room)? Is it more likely that Quilty will come into harm’s way if I leave it at home on this trip or if I take it with me (taking into account the potential for car crashes, lost luggage, and of course blanket robbers)? How can I ensure that my “high-spirited” dog won’t somehow tear down a door, rifle through a dresser drawer, and destroy Quilty while I’m in the shower?

Now that you understand the level of my insanity with regards to this ancient blanket, it should come as no surprise that when I was pregnant with Bubba, I thought things through thoroughly and decided that he simply could not come near Quilty. After 28 years, Quilty is literally hanging on by a thread in some areas, and a daily dose of spit-up and drool surely wouldn’t do anything towards ensuring its longevity. No, I’d have to adapt my habits and make sure the baby and all his Quilty-ruining bodily fluids stayed far, far away from my dear blanket.

So what, you ask, is going on here?

And here?

And what the heck is this??

It’s true. It took less than 12 hours for me to go from “this kid and his snot-nose are never coming near my Quilty!” to “oh my gawwwwwd look how cute he looks cuddled up with Quilty!”

I discovered the definition of true love, folks: it’s using your most prized possession to wipe drool from your baby’s chin while you’re cuddled up for a nap. It’s letting your baby use your baby blanket as a teething cloth. It’s grabbing the camera when he attacks the blanket instead of rushing to remove it from his vicinity:

Do YOU know true love? 🙂

(PS: after re-reading this post, I realize that I sound straight-up crazy. If you no longer want to be my friend, I totally support your decision. I’m a nutbag.)