It’s orange, covered in purple drawings of Alice in Wonderland characters. Fraying at the edges, it’s seen better days – and it’s really better suited (and sized) for covering a child’s body than a full-grown one.

But it’s still my nap blanket.

I don’t really call it that. Not out loud, at least. I might call it the orange blanket or that quilt, but you won’t hear me talk about my nap blanket.

You won’t hear me talk about burrowing under the orange quilt during naptimes, sucking on the corner and building a blanket house for my teddy bear.

{When I was four! I don’t do these things now!}

And you definitely won’t catch me admitting that I still like to snooze under my nap blanket, even though my feet stick out, and that no matter how many times I wash it (and with two cats and a three-year-old, that’s a lot), it still has a certain familiar smell that I love.

Nope. When you’re 32 years old, it’s a little weird to talk about how much you love your nap blanket.

To read the rest of this article, please visit me at (in)courage!

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