I tried so hard to get my child to take a comforter

I tried so hard to get my child to take a comforter. It was a square piece of fleece blue fabric with white stars and a satin yellow underside, with a toy head sewn to the centre that may have been a giraffe or perhaps a spotted horse or maybe even a cow depending on who was looking at it.
I wore it inside my shirt, held it between us as we breastfed, all the things you’re told to do to make a “lovey” loved by association.
I took it on holidays and lamented that I was the one despairing when it got left behind (all my hard work ruined!), not the child who was meant to be interested in it.
My touch, my body, my voice has been her comforter from Day Dot, and she was not interested in replacing it with any kind of substitute.
There are times I’ve loathed that responsibility, especially at bed time. I have felt so stifled, craving a night away (or even dinner out) with friends, or whatever other opportunities I’d very rarely take up but resented not having the option of entertaining.
Tonight, staying in our fourth bed in four nights, I realise THIS is freedom too.
There is no comforter, no familiar room or cot needed. There is only me, and wherever we are together, she will feel safe to sleep.
There is no bedtime routine required, she will run and play until she drops, and then we will go to bed together, and she will feel safe to sleep.
There is no specific white noise or soundtrack that must be played, there is only my voice, and with it, she will feel safe to sleep.
And wherever we are when she does, I will study that beautiful, mischievous face I’ve wanted to run from and rage at multiple times that day, because she won’t be my baby forever, and there is no greater honour than supporting my baby’s sleep.
[ID: An image of a fair skinned, blonde haired child with navy pants and a light pink/peach top playing on a double bed.]


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