My niece had a much longed for baby a few months ago. Family dynamics are a little fraught as she's ex's niece and I was cut dead by his family at the divorce. I could think of no good reason why a baby boy should be overlooked and sent one of the super duper patchwork blankets I designed and knitted myself.
Son number two has been visiting her and told me how they raved over the blanket and were constantly stopped by Kensington yummy mummies asking where she'd got it. I felt rather 👍 by this.
Now it's struck me I really couldn't defog enough to design again, never mind knit all the tricky arty bits on it. I thought I was fairly used to my new way of life, but this has been like a punch in the stomach. It doesn't help that I got myself more or less well scrubbed up for a short gathering today, only to realise at the last moment that what I needed to do was get into bed, still in my best bib and tucker. So I did.
One little 🌈 Is that my "grandma's hope chest" has two more of those blankets. I seldom knit the same thing twice, so life goes on, even though I'd like to cancel the rest of 2017.