Afghans

My mom has told me that when I was born, I received a lot of afghans. In fact, some of the ones lying on the back of chairs most of my life actually belonged to me. I’m not sure if it was just a fad in 1980, or people thought I would get cold in February in Rhode Island, or they still had a lot of time since I arrived at the start of my parents and their friends having kids and no one had their hands full yet. I just know I had several lovingly made afghans.

Now expecting my own child, I made sure when I was home at Christmas to grab a few of those afghans which were in easy reach in boxes in the attic. I don’t want my baby getting cold and it’s nice to think of he or she bundled up in something I once cuddled in. And the afghans are something of mine “peanut” can use right away (we’ll pick up the little rocking chair and table and chairs in the attic when he or she grows a little).

Probably the most ironic thing about my having so many afghans from my babyhood is that I can’t crochet. My mother missed that lesson in my childhood. About the time I would have learned, she had her hands full of babies and toddlers. It wasn’t until I was in my mid-20s she realized she had never taught me even the most basic use of yarn and a crochet needle. I think she thought she had failed as a mother. It didn’t (and has never) bothered me.

So, I can’t crochet our baby an afghan, but that’s okay. Because over the past few months, the box full of stuff collected for the baby has become an overflowing pile that needs to be put away. Ever so often I receive a package in the mail from a wonderful friend who wants to bless us and our little one. The top gift? Afghans.

I am not complaining!!!! Added to the pile of lovingly made afghans I was wrapped in is another stack of beautiful, lovingly made afghans my baby will be bundled up in from friends who love me. And I’m looking forward to telling my little one about the wonderful people who have taken the time to make now two generations of afghans.