Death of a Blankie

Shortly after I gave birth, I read that having a security blanket makes it easier for babies to acclimate to strange places. I also read that if the security blanket smells like mom, it’s easier for the baby to attach themselves to it.

I’m telling you this so you understand why I made the moronic decision of making Mazzy’s blankie out of two old t-shirts of mine. What else would smell more like me than items I’ve worn to the gym? (Alright, that sounds disgusting now that I’ve written it down.)

Mazzy calls her blankie “Boo” (short for peek-a-boo) and they are inseparable. If I had to list the things in Mazzy’s life that she could not live without in order of necessity, Boo would be at the very top. That means Boo is above Elmo, goldfish crackers and myself. Which hopefully illustrates the obscene level of attachment.

Boo helps put Mazzy to bed, assists in spontaneous meltdown deflection, acts as her companion on car rides and generally encourages a favorable disposition at all times.

Which is great!

That is, until Boo started dying.

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