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I still sleep with my baby blanket. I'm 20. I've tried to part with it several times, but I can't seem to.
Its hot pink ribbons frame a fleece fabric with a pattern depicting cartoon versions of little girls — much like I was when I received the blanket.
After 20 years, it's safe to say my DNA has caused the blanket to age.
The corners have split, the bright colors are faded and its softness is now rough. Its imperfections reflect years of love and loyalty.
The love embedded into its fabric can be traced back to the loving hands that sewed it together. My nana began the tradition of making baby blankets for her grandkids when I was born. One reason I hold on to it is because I need to hold on to her.
I've met other adult blanket-havers and seen the dire states of their blankets. Some snuggle up to bits of fabric or balls of string. I'm grateful that my blanket is still very much a blanket.
Over the years, I've experienced an array of reactions to my baby blanket-having. Some laugh, some mock, some ridicule. Yet, none have convinced me to part with it.
When I watched a scary movie for the first time, my baby blanket was there, woven in between my fingers, fragrant with the same childhood smell, providing the same comfort.
When I was in a car accident at 10 years old, the one object I grabbed from the wreckage was my baby blanket. The texture of the fabric on my cheek as I fell asleep reminded me that I was safe.
When I went home crying after I was rejected by another boy I confessed my love to in high school, I cried into my blanket. I watched the wet spots dry up and so did my desire for the boy.
My baby blanket was always there. It was a ghost looking on at the turbulent changes that came with growing up. Soaking up tears, cooling sweat from fevers, balling up into angry fists and flying through the air like a cape when I danced.
At times, my blanket was a mirror I could look into and reflect. Now, when I breathe in its scent, I'm reminded of my resilience and joy.
Sometimes we need something to hold us and sometimes we need to let ourselves be held by something. There's nothing wrong with that, even if it's a baby blanket and even if you're 20 years old.
I can't say I'll part with it anytime soon. My future partner will have to be okay with the third party in our bedtime routine. My blanket and I come as a complete set, and I’m okay with that.
Edited by Savannah Dagupion, Leah Mesquita and Audrey Eagerton.
This story is part of The Horror Issue, which was released on November 1, 2024. See the entire publication here.
Reach the reporter at amwilt@asu.edu and follow @AbigailMWilt on X.
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Abigail is a junior studying journalism and mass communication with a minor in english literature. This is her third semester with The State Press. She has also worked at the ASU School of Music, Dance and Theatre.
