The Story of a Robe

March 14, 2014



My earliest memory is of my mom chowing down on my toes while changing my diaper. So now I smother Fox’s feet in kisses when I change his. On Sundays she would bake me biscuits from scratch and smother them in honey – I can’t wait to start a weekend breakfast tradition for my own family (once Fox is on solids). But etched forever into my memory of childhood is my mom’s blue robe. I remember cuddling in that space between sleep and awake, hypnotized by the terry cloth texture of that robe during our nap time together. That blue robe was the uniform for unconditional love. The kind of love I want to blanket my own baby in.

So I have this pink Canyon Group chenille robe with red lips. It’s super weighted, cozy, and warm but it doesn’t quite fit the badass post-apocalyptic aesthetic I’m going for (well, except that Brad Pitt, who we can all agree is pretty badass, rocks the coffee mug Canyon Group robe in Fight Club). Within the last year I’ve attempted to give it to Goodwill but it never quite made it to the ongoing “donate” pile I have stashed in the back of my closet. I’m glad because I found extra comfort in it while laboring with Fox … and then again after a particularly rough middle-of-the-night new mom meltdown last week. A meltdown in which I found myself crying in a bath with lavender oil, Epsom salts, and desperation – hoping that I could get my shit together before the next feeding. I was feeling anything but a warrior momma. So I crawled back into bed sporting my decidedly not badass pink robe with oversized kisses on it.

I picked up a fussy Fox and began to nurse him, hoping my sadness wasn’t tainting his food. The thought crossed my mind that I might be a shell of myself for the rest of my life. That’s when Fox in all his unsophisticated coordination, swiped his hand across my pink robe – the texture of it captured his attention and he grabbed on. In that moment I fell a little deeper in love. The unconditional kind.

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