The Fatherhood Chronicles XLIV

I going to have to break this speech out soon:

I understand that you little guys start out with your woobies and you think they’re great… and they are, they are terrific. But pretty soon, a woobie isn’t enough. You’re out on the street trying to score an electric blanket, or maybe a quilt. And the next thing you know, you’re strung out on bedspreads Ken. That’s serious.

Micheal Keaton in Mr. Mom (1983)

Yes, Sofie has a “woobie.” Well, that’s not what we call it. But she has developed an attachment to a blanket. It’s a thin little blanket Anna’s aunt, Verna, had made for her older daughter, Anna’s cousin. It got passed down to the younger daughter, then found its way to Anna, when she was a baby. Anna’s mom kept it. And now, Anna’s blanket is Sofie’s.

So many things go better with Sofie’s blanket. Oh, say, bedtime, for instance. No blanket? Restless Sofie (even with bippy). Blanket? Sofie’s out in minutes. Need to take Sofie away from Anna after nursing in the morning to play? If the blanket’s in hand, nary a whimper. (In fact, this morning, Sofie held on to the blanket the whole time she was up–only a short forty-five minutes before she went back to bed.)

Sofie’s already got a certain technique for holding the blanket. One corner bunched up in her left fist (though she does most things right-handed now), if she’s sitting on a lap or sleeping. If she’s on the floor, it’s one corner in one hand, the corner on the opposite diagonal in the other, wrapped around her shoulders like a shawl. (How she figures these things out, I have no idea.)

This blanket attachment is a new and very sudden thing. One night Anna lay it over Sofie when she put her to bed. Next thing you know, Sofie’s hooked on woobie. I try to tell myself, it’s only a recreational thing. She’s not dealing or anything. But I know better. Nine times out of ten, woobie is only a gateway: the bigger stuff is on its way.

Maybe they’ll give her some colorful key chains in woobie rehab.