It's the end of an era.

It's a sad day. I'm somewhere between a state of mourning and a state of feeling like I'm staring at a freight train as it's about to flatten me.

The day I've been dreading has come to pass---- the day when we need to say goodbye to our cherished friend, Miracle Blanket.

My love affair with these sewn together flaps of pink fabric began just a few short days after bringing Lauren home from the hospital. It has been my rock, my source of good sleep, my only sanity some days as I have a great sense of security in the fact that, more often than not, when Lauren is wrapped up like a cocoon she's going to drift off into dreamland (and stay there) without too much incident. I count on it like I count on having to argue with Joshua to get him to eat his dinner. It's as sure a bet as just about anything.

The night before we headed home to Lewistown to celebrate Easter, I was terrified to find Lauren on her tummy in her crib, albeit fast asleep and looking quite comfortable. She was, however, still wrapped in her baby straight-jacket, and would have been unable to roll herself back over if she needed to. Once assuring that she was breathing, I rolled her over and of course woke her up. I declared that we would no longer use the Miracle Blanket anymore and quickly retracted that statement upon Lauren waking up 30 times between 11:00 and 3:30 am the first night we were at my parents' house. She hasn't been rolling over, so I thought we were smooth sailing.

Until last night. I couldn't keep her on her back for anything. She was resting comfortably and sleeping well, but she just kept finding her way back to her tummy, despite the fact that she had no movement whatsoever in her arms. It's not so much the tummy sleeping that freaks me out, but more that I can't be sure she could get herself out of trouble if she couldn't breathe. And so, I believe the time as come to begin the process of seeing what night sleep is going to be like at our house sans Miracle Blanket. As I type that, the tears are rolling down my cheeks and hitting the keyboard. (Not really, but I feel like I want to cry....plus it sounds more dramatic, doesn't it?)

I've begun a strict caffeine regimen in preparation for what tonight holds. If you wish to pray for me, it would be appreciated. God and I are already in deep talks about this. And who knows, maybe she'll surprise me and appreciate the freedom of movement and sleep BETTER (as in, skipping the feeding in the middle of the night), but I'm a realist and I have to tell you that I'm not counting on it.

Farewell Miracle Blanket. It's been a good run.