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I'd love to get some insight on this one too. Lately I've taken to sleeping with a blankie. I had one of my kid's stuffed animals for a while, but I'm happier with the blankie. It's a hand-knit lap blanket that I made myself. Somehow it feels better that I made it myself too...
Anyhoo, like you say, weird... I suppose I'm taking care of my inner child...
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'...
At poor peace I sing
To you strangers (though song
Is a burning and crested act,
The fire of birds in
The world's turning wood,
For my sawn, splay sounds,)
...'
Dylan Thomas, Author's Prologue
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