You might know the type. It's about 5 by 7, it's super-lightweight and almost furry in its softness. And if you drape it over a kid and pull it over them quickly, the static'll beat any Van DeGraff generator you've ever seen on Bill Nye.
It ended up being a bit too big to drape over a baby carrier, so it made its way into the house as a sofa throw. But from there it's come to take on a whole new purpose.
It's played some type of comforting role in every single sickness that's taken place in this house in the last three years. Any time that PJ's on the couch and Nyquil/Advil have been combined, this blanket has made an appearance. Light, soft, warm. Totally synthetic and puke washes right out of it like it ain't no thing.
Carol calls it "the typhoid throw". I'd like to think she means it affectionately. But I can't be sure.
It's been a solid year since the typhoid throw has made an appearance, but tonight I wrapped the big one up in it and tucked him in.
101. We're gonna be in for helluva night.