"This is my special blanket. It's my Beatles quilt."
As my husband predicted, she loves the thing. She curled up with it in her tiny rocking chair, murmuring about her "special blanket" and napped under it the very first day. She drags it around the house and offers to cover me with it when she can see I'm in a rotten mood (double heart-punch there). When people ask what she got for her birthday, she can, with a little leading, tell you "My mommy made me a Beatles quilt."
There was quite a kerfluffle at bedtime a couple of days ago when it had to be washed and was not yet dry at bedtime. It had to be draped over her dresser to air-dry, so that it was in the room with her, even though it was too damp to use on the bed. No other blanket will do.
Even though I shake my head every time I look at that rumply binding or any of the 100 other mistakes I made, I call this one a win.