So on Wednesday night, sitting at my computer, agonizing on behalf of Emily, wanting to be there with them… even though I said I wouldn’t, I broke down and started a baby hat.
I found a nice ribbed hat pattern that would fit any newborn’s head snugly and last for a wee bit, uncovered a ball of white and a ball of blue “Sugar n’ Cream Cotton Mousse” with fun nubbies in them, held them together, and cast on. I only got through a few rows before Jared got home, I nuked some leftovers, and we decided to head over to the birthing center.
I was stitching along in the car, trying to calm myself with the mindless k2, p2 ribbing, when I froze. I remembered that my heroine the Yarn Harlot has a theory that a baby isn’t born until she’s finished her knitting for it, and I looked at my lap. “Jared,” I said, “this may not have been a good idea.”
I talked myself down. I’m not the YH, and it’s bad enough for me to steal her gimmicks; it’d be downright stupid to assume I could take upon myself the mantle of her knitting baby mojo. So when we got there, there were some playing cards, so after a while I did the cruelest thing I could possibly have done – I stopped.
It took until the end of our game of euchre for everyone to realize that we were in it for a longer haul than we’d initially suspected. Realizing my error, I grabbed my needles and started knitting furiously.
I finished the hat in as short of order as possible, about a half hour before midnight, and as I was weaving in the ends,, we start hearing some serious moaning from next door.
However, the damage was done. That was only the beginning, and it was a further six hours before the little man showed. I hope you can forgive me, Emily. I take full responsibility. [I’m sure the fact that Peter’s head was 38 cm. around has nothing to do with it.]
The long-suffering parents actually glad to receive the diminutive headgear, though I’m not sure they knew it was an object of thoughtless cruelty. They even when so far as to enable me completely by putting it on the little guy’s head for the ride home.
As you can tell, Peter knew what was up. He will likely puke on me as often as he gets a chance after this.
[the above two photos are shamelessly ripped off Justin’s facebook.]