Just you weight
Welcome to the deep-tissue all-night hug of a weighted blanket
One day at work I confessed to my friend Skip that I’d always secretly loved it when they put that weighted apron on you at the dentist when they left you alone with all the death rays. Skip’s eyes lit up, and he told me how he’d also always loved it. And when someone buries you in hot sand at that beach? Yessss, that too!
Together we started saving our favorite full-body balms to a board we shared on Pinterest called Soothing Feelings. We learned that dental aprons could indeed be bought by civilians, and they even came in a range of colorful prints, from Playful Pups to Camo (please go about your hunting, I’ll just be sedately lying here on the jungle floor, you won’t even notice me).
But as I was searching for lead aprons, Pinterest started recommending other ideas I might love, like peace collars and sensory snakes and all kinds of other kinds of other weird things I’d never heard of. There were even full-on weighted blankets, like down comforters but with each square filled with weights. Apparently they were originally designed for kids with Autism Spectrum Disorders, but they’d found they also help calm people with insomnia and anxiety (AKA Evany Thomas).
I wanted one of those blankets bad. But they were a serious investment (upwards of $10 a pound), so I hem-hawed. But then in the weeks leading up to the election my insomnia took a turn for the wide-eyed worse. As I was staring blurrily at Facebook one morning, one of those eerily targeted ads came up. “Do you like those aprons they put on you at the dentist?” the ad said(!!!). “Then you’ll love the Weighting Comforts blanket!” I ordered a 20-pounder right then and there.
When it arrived, I got a text from Marco. “What the hell did you order? I actually fell over trying to pick up the box. I came right out of my flip flops!”
It’s weight is indeed impressive. It looks just like a normal blanket, but you have to use a Fireman’s carry to get it around the house. I haven’t washed it yet, but I’m pretty sure it’s going to break our washing machine, and maybe throw our house of its foundation? Bonus: Just like the adoption papers that came with Cabbage Patch Dolls of yore, my Weighting Comforts blanket came with a lovely letter about the refugee women from Tennessee who made my blanket. I’m not sure if they’re from another country and taking refuge in Tennessee, or if they’re from Tennessee and have managed to get out—but either way, I’m all for it.
The whole family took turns giving the blanket a try.
Marco: Slipped into a deep mid-afternoon nap and didn’t come out for two hours. “I feel violated,” he said as he limped out of the bedroom. “Like someone’s been holding me down this whole time.”
Desi: “Ouch. Get it off me GET IT OFF ME!”
Evany: Deep, contented sigh. I just lay there on the couch with my new blanket friend pulled up to my neck, feeling deeply serene. My breathing slowed and deepened. I felt calmer and wiser and more resistant to petty life irritations. It is the perfect post-election home accessory—just the thing for helping a person get over getting trumped.
It’s also proven to be rich ground for hilarity. When our friend Sophia came to stay recently, Marco casually handed her the blanket. “Here’s your blanket for tonight. Want to put it back in your room?” She reached for it with one hand, then doubled over in surprise. Much laughter ensued. (Oh, we do have fun!)
“What the hell is this thing?” she asked.
“Come,” I said. “Lie down. Let me smother you with its many splendored comforts.
