For as long as I can remember in her nearly-six-year lifespan, Tiny has emerged every morning from the bottom of the staircase wrapped in an increasingly ragged “blankie.”

Blankie started out as pink and white, and was lovingly knit by my late grandmother for Bookworm when she was born in 2009. And while Bookworm, and later The Architect, got some use out of Blankie, it was Tiny who truly claimed it.

Blankie became her comfort object, her play mat, her pillow, her accessory of choice. If she fell and scraped her knee, it was Blankie (and sometimes Mom) for which she cried out as tears streamed down her cheeks. If it was time for bed and she didn’t have Blankie, a sweep of the house was conducted so Tiny would be able to sleep. 

Like the Velveteen Rabbit, Blankie over time changed from pink and white to more of a rosy gray, despite periodic washings. The fringe at its edges became frayed and I patched a few holes with a needle and thread to prevent Blankie from unraveling. But none of that mattered to Tiny.

Every morning, like clockwork, she would sleepily amble into the living room, her arms wrapped in Blankie and a stuffed animal or three, then cuddle up on the couch and gradually awaken to begin her day.

With Blankie at her right hand, Tiny spent her entire summer looking forward to starting kindergarten this week. She’d had enough of sending her big sisters off to the elementary school a few blocks away — this was her time to join in the fun, and she was ready.

On the day of their kindergarten assessment, she counted to 100 before they made her stop.

Her sisters filled her head with big dreams of field day and art class and lunch in a big cafeteria, and she laid her First Day outfit carefully on the upholstered bench by her bedroom window so that it would be ready.

On the eve of her first day, she told me her plan: She would get dressed first thing in the morning so she would be sure to be ready on time.

“That sounds like a good plan!” I said.

Sure enough, Tuesday morning, she came downstairs in a smart pink-and-orange tie-dyed T-shirt and a coordinating unicorn skirt. The Architect told me when she peeked into Tiny’s room, she had grinned back widely from her pillow.

We had breakfast and took the obligatory First Day photos from the front porch, complete with a sassy knee bend, and drove her to school with her big sister.

Since it was the first day, Mr. Roy and I waited outside with them for the bell to ring — and then, just like that, holding The Architect’s hand, Tiny disappeared into the fray.

Now, I’m not a cry-er. In a way this is a milestone I’ve been looking forward to for 13 years — a quiet house and time to hear myself think; to tackle the chores that have been on my to-do list for years but I’ve just not quite gotten around to. 

So I didn’t cry when I hugged and kissed her goodbye for her first day of kindergarten. And I didn’t cry in the van as I drove home. And I didn’t even cry when I walked into the house and it was a heavier kind of quiet than what it’s been for a very long time.

But then I walked into the living room and started to tidy up and I realized that Blankie wasn’t there.

So I went upstairs, and sure enough, there was Blankie. On the steps of her bed, where it had been left in her excitement to get dressed for kindergarten.

And looking at it there, draped over the step, felt like the end of a chapter. 

That was when I cried.

I’ve spent the last decade as a stay-at-home mom because I had the luxury of being present for my kids in that way. It was a choice, and not an easy one. I’ve caught myself feeling pangs of jealousy toward friends with the resources to take nice vacations; questioned my sanity because I can’t get the ‘Paw Patrol’ theme out of my head; gone days without conversing with another adult besides my husband.

That said, I have no regrets. It has all been worth it. 

Now we are in a new chapter with less cuddling of blankets and more hard conversations. I’m still going to be present for Tiny and her sisters, and I’m looking forward to the adventures awaiting our family in the years ahead.

And don’t tell her I said this, but I have a feeling Blankie isn’t going away anytime soon.

Abbey Roy is a mom of three girls who make every day an adventure. She writes to maintain her sanity. You can probably reach her at amroy@nncogannett.com, but responses are structured around bedtimes and weekends.