My baby brother was given a blanket when he was born. It was pale blue on one side and white on the other. It had a satin trim. And if fitted perfectly over the bundle that was him asleep in his crib. It was his cot blanky.
When he was old enough to suck his thumb and grasp and hold he would rub the cot blanky over the space between his nose and lips. It made him feel safe.
Over time the satin trim wore thin and the corner of the blanky became permanently matted from being held in his tight little fist. My mother had to wash it often, and it shrunk a little too.
When it had been washed my little brother would wait slightly impatiently for it to dry. My mother always tried to chose a warm windy day to wash the blanket and so it dried in the sun and absorbed some of the smell of the grass and the trees.
No amount of washing however could take away the particular smell it held though. A cot blanky that has been truely loved should smell of whispers and nursery rhymes; some tears (not too many); and dreams of trains; of planes and even of tigers.
Recent Comments