The feeling of it on my skin. The way it bunches up on the sides. The comfort it brings me. I can't live without my baby blanket. As stupid as it seems, it is one of the most important things to me. I never forget to bring it on trips, long car rides, sleepovers, and switching back and forth between my mom’s house and my dad’s house. When I was born, scared and cold, this blanket was the first thing that hugged me. I was swaddled with it, and I was drowning in how big it was around my little body. I grew up with it, as it came with me on my first sleepover, my first airplane ride, my first cruise, my first vacation, my first time away from my mom, my first train ride, my first everything.

 It still has its light pink color, like the first day my mom bought it. Although it has some rips and tears in it, I feel like that symbolizes the rough times in my life. The rip on the upper left reminds me of the first fights I had with my sisters. When I was so angry. The tear by the cloth tag reminds me of when my parents got a divorce. When I was so confused and sad. Or on a positive note, the hole near the middle reminds me of when my parents surprised my little self with tickets to disney. When I was so excited, I jumped up and down, causing it to rip a little. Everytime I feel angry, stressed, sad, or just emotional in any way, I grab it for comfort. I reflect off my 17 years of living, and find it crazy how this blanket has always been consistent and there for me. It often feels like I'm hugging my past or future self. As many times as I wash it, it still smells the same, feels the same, and folds in the same places. Only the most significant people in my life know about this blanket, and don't judge me for it, or think it's weird. I plan to have this blanket with me as long as I possibly can, as I cannot imagine my life without it, weirdly. 

Will I pass it down to my children? Will I keep it forever? These are often questions that spark my fear of growing up. I tie my blanket around the course of my life, and I don't want to grow up or grow out of it. My baby blanket is the same age as me, but at the same time reminds me of my younger self. I remember the times I slept without it, and it always feels like I'm lonely, or missing a part of myself. As degrading as it is, when I get home from being away from it, I greet it like a real person. I feel so connected to it, that I miss it when I'm away. I have always tied it to my comfort item. My baby blanket is my life. Without it, I am missing a part of myself. Without it, I forget who I am.