What I am about to tell you you must NOT tell anyone. I will die of mortification. Hold a sec. Mortification....mortuary.......mortician.........is there a connection?
Anyway, I'm holding you to keeping this between me and you. The only reason I'm sharing this with you is so that you'll know you are not alone. Sshhh. I do it too.
Remember the post about the afghan my mother was crocheting? This post? Ya, well. There is another reason that my sweet husband who isn't afraid to let his wife be a baby sometimes cuz he's man enough, put that afghan across my shoulders. He knows my secret and he knows that it is okay to be a baby sometimes cuz he's man enough to have a baby for a wife.
When I was a teeny tiny newborn my mum would sit and watch me take my itty bitty tiny fingers and poke them through the holes in the little blanket covering me. A crochet blanket. I've done it ever since. I can't stand it. My fingers can't keep still if there is a crochet blanket in sight for me to put my fingers through. Believe me I've tried! I've tried to grow up and be mature but I think in Heaven I must have had a crochet blanket it is ingrained in me that deep.
So see? It is okay. I know that when no one is looking you occasionally suck that thumb still or wrap your hair around your fingers and yank. I do it too! We can handle being a baby cuz we're tough enough!