Before the baby arrived (neatly, in a blanket and cot beside my bed, with a little stork feather-down resting on his forehead) life passed without a lot of fuss; seasons changed, people were dramatic or not, food was lingered over, projects abounded and remained unfinished in place of newer projects.
Now, not so much. Life is barreling past, bumping on all the rocks, jolting me with a week of sleep deprivation due to teething/crawling/cruising/trying to stand/big changes in a little person. Then a week of pulled back due to throwing the stroller in the trunk with a wrong twist. What next? Oh just a little daylight savings time and mornings starting at 6:00.
The projects are fewer and I work hard to finish them. I want to feel accomplished and creative. I forget that HOLY CRAP this entire past year has been focused on keeping another person alive! That is the ultimate accomplishment. The biggest project. Even when I’m flat on the floor letting this heavy little rug rat use me like a jungle gym and my skull is like “why am I housing a huge brain when you only use .0001% of it?” — I am being productive. I’m not usually so heavy handed with myself, never super motivated to follow through on a project. Or I wasn’t until after the baby. I think it’s to do with wanting to not just be defined by being a mom, pin-holed and stereotyped as a SAHM with a DS. You know?
While I am using that tiny percent of my brain, it’s usually re-thinking my identity. Who am I now? What’s important to me? How do I express what’s important and prioritize it? How do I keep my life filled with creativity and balance my relationships? And sleep… Oh how I would love to just cozy in and sleep without waking for a good 6 to 8 hours.
Anyway just some thoughts. I’m making two baby sweaters (still? did I mention them before?) and one is going just fine. The other, well, I might have to pull it out but I’m saving it for later. No sewing, just no interest there as of now. I am really interested in learning about homeopathy and gardening and urban homesteading. MODERN DAY HIPPY/HIPSTER. Sorry. Just going with the times. I do live in Portland, y’all.
I recently finished this sweater for Wyeth. It’s larger, will probably fit next fall. Since the last sweater I knit turned out too small, I’m going with larger sizes. I just don’t have the patience/time to knit swatches for baby sweaters. So they’re going to be big from here on out. This was fun because it was my first real go at using a chart. Excellent because I’m going to revisit the daunting Exeter here in the near future (gave it a go awhile ago and it did not go so well). Ok I’ll be good and swatch for that.
My wrist still gives me some problems but not like it was. Thank you, cortisone shot! So I’m back to knitting frequently. And by that I mean during the evenings while watching Netflix or Amazon with Chris (season 2 of House of Cards right now… OMG). I’m on the sleeve portion of my next sweater for Wyeth. It’s also blue. The kid looks great in blue and I guess I’m in a blue phase because it’s a calming color. I think the next baby sweater will be brown. Got to mix it up… or just use up my stash.
Right now Chris is making pizza and I was knitting, drinking a cocktail, and listening to One Bad Mother before writing this post. The evenings are quiet. The baby goes down and stays asleep for a good 6-8 hours before waking up. If we’re lucky it’s only one time. Thanks for being awesome, baby.
Time to eat. Knit. Sleep.
I promised Elena I’d name my next post Soul Massage.
But for real, don’t you ever feel like you need one? Arranging flowers by myself, when it’s quiet, or sometimes even if it’s loud, everything else gets quiet and I’m in it. Just moving flowers around. Snipping ends. Dripping water everywhere. I don’t feel that way about anything else. Definitely not sewing, which is a huge chore for me and I do only for the finished project. Knitting is fun but it hurts my hands. I can totally zone out with flowers. Love it. There should be more flower arranging soul massage in my life. And I think there will be. I was walking around in the extremely ugly winter garden and noticing signs of life. Tiny crocus, tiny iris, tiny aster (I think?), and even some muscari. Spring! Come on, pretty spring.
Big sigh. The past couple of months have been hard. Full of sleep regressions, irregular napping, sickness, stress, snowed in cabin fever anxiety, weird aversion to a mess (childhood packrat speaking). I’m thankful for the times I get my soul massage. For the few minutes to myself in a day full of taking care of the sweetest little guy who makes me smile more than ever, even when he’s scratching the bejesus out of my face with unmasked glee.