I am not a young mother — let’s leave it at that. Badger is only 17 months old, and yet it somehow comes as a shock now to remember that there was a time — a long time — when I did not have a child. When I went to work and received money, went to restaurants that did not serve food within 5 minutes of ordering, decided in a moment I’d like to go to the grocery store or for a walk or visit a friend or take a nap. When I could stay home sick. When I had hobbies.
For example, I used to knit. A lot. I loved it and I was really good at it, too. That may sound a little conceited, but you’ll have to trust me. I rocked short rows, mastered intarsia and feared not the Kitchener Stitch. I knit Dale of Norways (Dales of Norway?) — more than one, and with steeks, too.
Since having Badger, I have finished exactly two projects — a very basic baby sweater for a friend, and this adorable Stella Pixie hat for my neighbor:
(It was cuter on the newborn it was intended for than on Badger’s >99% toddler head.)
I have a baby blanket on my needles that I could have knit in two days in my pre-mommyhood life that’s been sitting forlornly for months, getting a row here and a row there:
while the unborn baby it was intended for gets up and crawls away.
This makes me sad — oh, not sad really. Wistful. I love knitting. I love making complicated, beautiful things. My Ravelry queue is full of soft toys, kids’ Dales, thread crochet tablecloths and wedding ring shawls (as if). But with a mile-a-minute, gentle-is-not-in-my-vocabulary, “hey what’s that let me yank on it and run away” toddler on the loose, it seems impossible to find the time to really concentrate on a pattern and get into that zone where the stitches just pour out. But lately I think maybe I’m making excuses and blaming Badger for my own intertia — she needs to learn to be respectful of SOMETHING, and I think it’s good for her to see me making things with my hands. So I’m going to start this adorable soft elephant from Ravelry.
Wish me luck!