Pieced together with a cantaloupe-sized belly.
Sandwiched with a (very) ripe pumpkin gut.
And finally, machine quilted and hand bound with a deflated midsection (during a few moments of grandparents sponsored solitude).
Little man approves.
I’m embarrassed to admit that I’ve come to a decidedly unfeminist conclusion:
Pregnancy makes you stupid.
Once your body starts the all-important, all-consuming, beautifully miraculous task of cooking up a human being, it figures you’ll have no more use for that brain of yours.
My math skills went early. By the end of the first trimester I had to pull out a calculator to subtract 2 from 39.5. I figured I could probably do it, but I just didn’t trust myself with that pesky little .5 at the end.
Next, went my words. Through the second and third trimesters I found myself searching for common nouns, pointing at objects to fill in the blanks in my sentence, mixing up family members’ names and sounding more and more like my mother.
My brain hit peak dumbness after baby boy arrived. Shrouded in the thick fog of sleep deprivation, I could barely manage my email password. My linguistic output was limited to parroted oohs, aahs, gurgles and heehees. It had been many weeks since I’d attempted to knit anything: the very notion of having to read and interpret a knitting pattern felt like advanced calculus.
But at about four weeks postpartum my fingers started jonesing for some wool. Any knitter deprived of knitting for long enough can relate to that yarny itch. I had started this sweater a while back and figured the miles of stockinette stitch would be a reasonable choice for a sleepy half-wit. Boy was I wrong.
It had felt so good to be knitting again. Like that first bike ride in spring after a winter of lumbering around in clunky boots: I was flying! Row after row, speeding past! A blur of fingers! A knitting ninja!
Except, when it came time to join the pieces at the underarm, something was off. I spread the knitting out flat, I spun it around, I turned it inside out, I folded it one way then the other. Yes, after having grown and birthed a baby I had experienced some remarkable anatomical transformations, but none that warranted replacing a neck hole with an armscye! None that would have me fitting into the strange moebius strip of fabric I had produced.
Somewhere along the way I had attached one part of the sweater to another part that had no business being anywhere near the first part. It was less sweater and more “art piece”.
There was no saving it. I was done for. Mind = gone.
But at least the consolation prize is pretty good. And cute to boot.
Yes, it’s true, I’d never inserted a bagged lining until now.
Popped my proverbial bagged-lining cherry, if you will. (Ooh, what a sentence that is! And what an image it conjures!)
It was a messy affair. I was nervous and sweaty. Got out my trusty walking foot for extra protection and added comfort.
There were a few moments of: wait, that goes where? That’s supposed to fit in here?
I have to pull the whole coat, inside out, through this impossibly small opening?!
But I huffed and I puffed and presto!: a fully lined coat emerged.
One of life’s precious little miracles.
I often wonder what I’m missing.
If t.v. is to be believed, the best cure for a bad dream or a stressful board meeting is a handful of cool water splashed onto the face. It seems everyone’s doing it.
I can’t remember the last time I splashed water on my face. Maybe once, after a long day of gardening in the summer heat? But never as some sort of panacea for emotional turmoil.
Tell me world, does it work?
Of course, I’ve never “grabbed a bite” either. Or “hit the sack” or shyly whispered “well… this is me” in front of my impossibly expensive Brooklyn brownstone.
But maybe I just haven’t lived!
Instead, I’ve been knitting my clothes as per usual and submitting legal questions to the Undisclosed Podcast.
Yes, you heard right folks, little Allison Wool&Potato got her question read aloud on the second addendum episode of the current season of the podcast. Like a boss.
It was terribly thrilling.
Should’ve splashed a little water on my face to come down after!