Handmade

S has this blanket. It's blue and green and yellow and white. It's an afgan style with holes in it. It is the only one I feel safe putting her down with in her crib.

Today, she cuddled in. Breathed it in. Pulled it up a little more. And drifted off to dreamland.

There's something about this blanket. It was made with two hands by a person who loves both me and S in a way only certain people can love you. It is uneven, and it has a few pulls. I can't quite fold it over her crib without it sliding one way or the other in or out. But it's more meaningful than any perfectly square blanket ever was.

The blanket is sort of like life with a baby. It's cuddly and warm, it's full of love-the most beautiful kind of love. It has life knit into it. It is comfortable. It's unpredictable- sometimes we use it for sleep, sometimes for hide and seek. It's not always perfect. Nothing that's this precious ever is.

But when I pick up my sweet, gorgeous baby girl and envelope her in hugs with this blanket, I am reminded of how masterfully my friendships are woven together and how inevitably lucky I am that to have friends who are so connected to my heart.




[From one S to another, thanks for the sweet love Aunt Sarah. You're quite simply the best.]