My Blanket and I

The house was filled with faces from the family and neigbourhood. They were all laughing and congratulating Bose my cousin that no one paid attention to him. He was crying out so loud and looking at me. He couldn’t see me actually but the way he kept staring made me feel new born could see. Bose was busy narrating her experience and didn’t bother to check on the cute poor thing. It seemed I was the only one with ears. I moved closer to where he was laid. I was performing a demonstration on how to pick him up, when I heard a voice behind me. It was Bose, telling me to go ahead.

I felt I was going to somehow break the baby. This was why I didn’t go close to babies. He was tiny, floppy, and oh-so-fragile. To my greatest surprise, he stopped crying. It was obvious he wanted attention. He looked so cute. I was scared he would slip from my hand and so I prayed he should fall asleep. Soon he slept off and I took him back to where he was laid and covered him with a blanket. I couldn’t have myself go back to the crowd. I stood beside him and watched as he slept so calm. He was so comfortable in the blanket. So serene and without having to worry about life the way the whole family were. I became jealous as I watched him sleep. I felt I could be like him. I was no longer a baby, and couldn’t become one anyway. I missed being one that moment. My cousin noticed as I watched and kept smiling at her baby. She came closer and teased. She told me not to worry one day I would have mine. But that wasn’t my thought. I was thinking about my special blanket. Just like the baby in front of me I had a blanket I couldn’t do without.

From knitted, patchwork and classic check to satin-edged cotton and sumptuous cashmere, I had to stay in my snuggly bed until the last second of babyhood. As a baby I was kept snug as a bug in my cot/pram with my super-cosy baby blanket. I might no longer be a baby but whenever I see one, I get the feeling. As a child I continued using a blanket because I found comfort in rubbing the silky border of my blanket between my first two fingers. My blanket always served me while I slept at night. It served simply as a cover over my eyes and ears while sleeping. Its duty no doubt could be easily performed by any t-shirt, but I absolutely preferred my blanket. Its texture was pleasing and its weight commanded a perfect amount of childhood magic. Fondness for my blanket made me scared. When I visited family friends or relatives, I was afraid of spending the night away from home, especially, when such visits were unplanned. That snuggly item that remained when everyone else has left the room at night is what I got fond of. It was intended to give me warmth and comfort, and it did not disappoint.

With my blanket I always had something to hide my little self under when scared. With it, I could pretend I was asleep when mum and dad came checking on me. One thing I like about my blanket is that it never judged or criticized me. It showed me love unconditionally, and holding it I felt free as the birds. As a child in an African society, my blanket accompanied to the mat under the moonlight. I covered it with my younger ones and some friends to listen to the many interesting tales my elders had to tell me. Most times, the company from my blanket, made me fall asleep while the tales were told. I still use blanket anyway. But the feeling as an adult isn’t the same as a child. As an adult you can do away with the blanket when the weather is hot. The blanket is only remembered when you get cold. You can travel without your blanket or sleep over in a friends place without missing your blanket. As a matter of fact, you can survive without the blanket unlike the child who sees it as part of the sleep routine.
But one strange habit I have observed with my blanket recently, is reading in it. The comfort it gives is an experience different from sitting on the reading table or lying on the sofa. As a student it could be perceived as a weakness. Most times I tend to sleep off while tucked into my blanket, but it still doesn’t stop the habit.
…My Blanket and I… from babyhood to adulthood.

Culled from warmagazine.wordpress.com

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