I should have posted this weeks ago, when I finished the most interminable stockinette I've ever encountered:
And it's all my own fault. I made this pattern up.
Stockinette plus some simple garter lace at the edge. It's roughly a triangle; the picture doesn't show it, but there's a middle rectangle and then two triangles on either side, if that makes sense.
As to how this came to be, I had a skein of mystery yarn gifted to me by… let's say, "a family member" to protect the sort-of innocent. Ha! The yarn had lost its label before it came to me. At first I thought it was hemp or linen, now I'm not so sure. The edging is some leftover hemp, and the main color was much softer than that. Probably a blend of some kind, fingering weight, at a guess 500 yards…
You see where this is going?
I thought it would be nice to have something to cover up with in the coming months, provided attempts to feed the expected offspring go as hoped.
And on that note, yes I totally know that I don't really look pregnant in that picture. Look more closely. The shawl sort of points on the top of a bump. I'm tall, and I'm told that helps in all sorts of ways, once of which is that I don't get as big as a shorter lady might.
And I don't think I mind too much. It's slightly irritating when I'm in one of the rare situations in which I would really like to play the pregnancy card (getting to sit down when waiting in line, for example - or, I've heard that some women get offered free dessert in restaurants, but I wouldn't know about that). But it's a relief, honestly, to know that I can minimize the extent to which people around me notice/obsess/ponder the bump.
During all the awfulness of our infertility experience, one of the hardest things was to interact with pregnant women. Of course I know it's not their fault - but come off it, Nagging Stranger. Since when was life fair? Somehow, I don't think a single one of the pregnant ladies I encountered was affected for the worse by the fact that I had a rough time being in their presence and listening to them talk all about their Braxton-Hicks contractions. Instead, I think -- and by the way, a whole host of other infertile folks will identify with this, if you don't believe me then go read their blogs -- I got a whole lot of exercise in deep breathing and attempting to foster compassion for myself and others in the way of Buddhism lite. It worked maybe part of the time.
Now that I'm, well, here, it's a sticky situation in which I'm happy to talk about my pregnancy to folks whom I know and whom I know to be in an okay place about it. But at work? In public, to strangers? I'd rather minimize the extent to which a baby bump seems to snare all attention. I can't completely avoid causing other people pain, but I can appreciate that there are reasons why another person might not dig my presence these days.
Besides, I do like the idea that maybe people remember I have an identity in addition to Foetus Carrier.
Tangent over. Happy holidays, everybody! 580 yards gone (500 for the stockinette, 80 for the border.) My remaining stash is hanging out in the dining room right now. So sad.