My first baby blanket, which I don’t remember, made me the center of one of many of my father’s stories. My mother said she couldn’t figure out what that smell was coming from or what it could be. My blanket got washed, I got washed several times. Come to find out, as so I’ve been told, I had been balling up pieces of my blanket and put them up my nose. The doctor had to remove them and mother was not pleased. But like I said, this is not my first blanket, but my second that stands in as a surrogate to the story I’ve heard for years.