I know you're too little to know it, but you're sort of a big deal around here. Not only are you one of the worlds most wanted and celebrated babies, you're also going to go down in history as the only baby I've ever loved who got born before their blanket was finished.
Yesterday when I finally brought it to your mum and dad and they put it around you, I felt a profound sense of relief. Your mum looked so pretty, and like she was finally feeling better, and she said that she hoped that the circus the two of you have been through for the last few weeks was over, and I said that I thought it was. I told her that I thought she'd run out of trouble. That there was just nothing else left for her to navigate, and that I really believed now everything would be smooth sailing.
My small friend, the truth is that in my heart, I had started to believe that nothing could go right for the two of you until I'd handed over that talisman, and that on some level, the blanket was more essential than I had thought. Those are probably the crazy thoughts of a superstitious auntie, but I just got it into my head that maybe the hours of love in these blankets are somehow protective. A shield of sorts. A symbol of how loved and wanted and unique you are in our world, and how grateful we are to your parents for bringing you here, and how everyone in this family is here for you, and intends to stand between you and trouble for every day of the rest of your life... as much as we are able.
I started thinking, as I was rushing to finish, that maybe this whack of trouble was the result of that blanket not being in place. That maybe once I had you wrapped in that thing, it would be a sign to the universe that you have an army of love around you, and that anything that wants to mess with you has to go through us first. I hope that's how it works, because that's what that blanket means.
Like you, your blanket is one of a kind.
There's Madeira Lace on the border, because your dad Carlos is Spanish. There's snowflakes because your mum Katie is Canadian, and there's the old tree of life motif there too, because those two things have come together to start a whole new family. (You'll learn that I'm big on symbolism - it makes me killer help for high school English essays. Remember that.)
The blanket is big, and I thought it was bigger than I wanted it to be, but now that I think about you and how you've arrived and the impact you've had - I don't think that it could be one centimeter smaller to do you justice.
Like you, this blanket looks delicate, but is strong.
I was thinking that maybe a ginormous swath of white lace wasn't really a baby boy thing, but I realized that it makes total sense, since somehow this blanket is as much for your mum as it is for you. Your father loves you to distraction, and is entirely devoted to you - any fool can see that, but I think your dad would be the first person to stand up and say that what your mum has been through and done for your little family in that last few weeks was brave, and she's bloody fierce, and your arrival has only made her more strong and beautiful.
It almost seems silly that all I'm giving the three of you is a blanket.
Welcome. Be safe. Be warm.
(PS. When you're ready, I'll teach you to knit.)