Before I was born, my great-grandmother made a baby blanket for my older sister, but she never took to it. I, however, did take to it. I named it my 'nummy', and don't ask me why because I'm not entirely sure where it came from.
It became my source of comfort; I couldn't sleep without her, play without her, or stay overnight absolutely anywhere without it snuggled up to my body. I sometimes wonder what I would've found comfort in if my sister would have been attached to the blanket when I first came along.
There came a point, around middle school, that I felt childish for still feeling the need to sleep with my baby blanket. I had long stopped taking it to sleepovers, mainly because it was too worn out and torn up for me to want to risk ruining it more. But, I mostly just felt embarrassed about still finding comfort in something so childish, I didn't know anybody else who did in my new school, so why should I? I find it funny now that I cared so much, about what other people would think, and so instead of simply not telling anybody, I just tried to force myself to stop needing it.
So, I tucked it in a drawer and every time I would try to go to sleep, I would miss the feeling of comfort it brought me. It worked for a while, but still on nights when I couldn't fall asleep because I was stressed out or upset, I would pull it out of a drawer and hold on to it while I cried. And then next morning, I'd wake up with it next to my head feeling safe, but as I started to get ready for the day, back into the drawer it went, and with it all the comfort of forgetting my troubles.
The summer before my sophomore year of high school, there was one night I had to go to the hospital with chest pains. I was terrified. After coming home late that night, or early that morning I suppose, all I wanted was to curl up with my nummy and feel safe again, and that's exactly what I did. I'm not sure if it was the extreme sense of fear or the pain, I was feeling that made me realize I was dumb for ever thinking that I had to sleep without it. I've slept with it almost every night since then, with the exception of sleepovers, because I'm still too afraid that it'll tear more.
Now, I'm a freshman in college and I still sleep with it every night. It isn't something I'm embarrassed by, because who doesn't need a little piece of comfort or their childhood in their life? I also realized, after talking about it with people, or them finding it in my room, that it's so incredibly normal! As much as I think people hate to admit it growing up, there are always going to be parts of us or things from our past that we will still hold on to, no matter how minuscule or large those things are. My nummy is everything my childhood wrapped up into one torn up, worn out, hanging on by a thread, piece of cloth that I don't plan on letting go of anytime soon.
