Between the diaper bag full of: toys, extra clothes, snacks, wipes, and diapers for both her and her brother –and- the car seats all three of my children had to be buckled into whenever we went anywhere, I could not handle having to cart around a big blanket too. So, I had my grandma and my mom both crochet a few “blanket squares.” They were portable versions of the big security blanket and thankfully, my daughter soon took to them. It wasn’t long before she grew to love the blanket squares even more than the original full sized blanket. Soon we had blanket squares in various colors all over the house.
Her favorite blanket squares were made by my mom. There were two of them. They were a dusty pink color and eventually all others were either lost or cast aside in favor of the most special ones which came to be affectionately known as the “Mama Bankies” (after the name the kids call my mom). Some years ago one of the “Mama Bankies” disappeared, leaving only one special blanket square left.
Crocheted blankets are not the most durable things. They are not designed to be carried around everywhere. They are definitely not designed to have little fingers woven through them night after night after night….. even if there is something incredibly sweet and comforting and familiar in the feel and smell of the soft worn yarn.
My daughter has fallen sleep with that marvelous “blanket” for nearly ten years now. For the first eight years or so, she had the habit of sticking her fingers through the holes created by the crocheting and then sticking them into her mouth, sucking her fingers with the blanket hanging between her hand and her mouth. Even after she quit sucking her fingers, the beloved “bankie” was wrapped around her fingers and held very close as she drifted off to sleep. It still is. Every night.
The bankie has been repaired countless times. It has been re-crocheted, sewed, and then sort of patched around the outside in the hopes of keeping it together. It is a sad sorry looking sight as all beloved blankets are eventually. It is dirty even though we wash it often (very carefully), it is dingy, it is unraveling. It is really just a tangled mass of faded pink yarn at this point. Someday I fear that beloved piece of tangly yarn will finally disintegrate into nothingness right in my daughter’s hand as she grasps it in sleep.
But for now it is loved. So very loved. And it is needed. So VERY, VERY needed. So I pray it is stronger and sturdier than looks......