Baby Blanket Woes

When I was about five, my aunt gave both my sister and I a quilt that she spent a couple years sewing by hand. Since I can remember, it's been my most favorite possession, granting me comfort not unlike that of a mother's hug.

At 26, this hasn't changed. I travel with this blanket, I sleep with it. I went about five or six months once, where I didn't, because I said to myself Meagan, you're being stupid, you don't need to bring your blanket. And then I regretted it. It's my sense of home. It might seem silly to most of you (though I bet not to some of the other traveling models who are constantly on the road) but to me, there is very little that is consistent and comforting to me.

But, it is in great need of repair. I asked my aunt to fix it and she said she might have to replace the whole back panel and I said no, that couldn't be done. That is the most important part. Though a third of it has slowly ripped off (I have the pieces). It is very important to me to keep it as close to perfectly the way it is as possible, but without continuing to rip!

I am not, mind you, asking for advice. I am merely expressing my stress over the matter.

So much pain has gone into this blanket, yet it somehow just absorbs it all and gives back love. Some sort of wild magick, I tell you!