I've been knitting this blanket for Two years. In a funny way it's imperfect stitches represent the ups and downs of this period.
I started it when a friend gave me a ball of wool she had hand spun to try out, back then I could only knit square shapes and it wasn't scarf weather so I decided to start a 'baby blanket'. Already aware of our infertility this was an emotionally charged project from the beginning, I began the blanket, knitting stripes of hope, imagining the baby who would one day be wrapped up in my lovingly handmade, mostly merino, blanket.
When this hope dwindled, so did my knitting and the blanket was shoved to the bottom of my basket. With the fertility treatment came new tentative hope and I was brave enough to pick up the blanket again, knitting more stripes of hope, this time emotions flitting between determination of willing it to happen through my stitches and sadness that I had become 'that sad childless woman', knitting a blanket for a non existent baby. It became a very personal project, i didn't want to talk about it or show it to anyone anymore, but I would get it out whenever I was ready to hope, or even when I needed to cry. There are many stripes of sadness in there as I imagined the baby who would never be born. It was shoved into the bottom of the basket a few more times.
With my acceptance of our 'misfortune' I decided to dedicate the blanket to other babies, now knitting it for them, as it wasn't likely I would ever need it. Babies came and grew and I never managed to finish it in time. Or perhaps I couldn't let go of my hope, it represented me becoming a mother after all and to give it away would be losing all faith.
Recently I have picked up the blanket again and knitted new stripes in, with more speed than ever. This time they are stripes of love for a very real child who will be kept snug by the blanket soon. I hope it will be a favourite that gets dragged around everywhere. I love the fact that my future child will have something that has so much of 'me' in it.
I started it when a friend gave me a ball of wool she had hand spun to try out, back then I could only knit square shapes and it wasn't scarf weather so I decided to start a 'baby blanket'. Already aware of our infertility this was an emotionally charged project from the beginning, I began the blanket, knitting stripes of hope, imagining the baby who would one day be wrapped up in my lovingly handmade, mostly merino, blanket.
When this hope dwindled, so did my knitting and the blanket was shoved to the bottom of my basket. With the fertility treatment came new tentative hope and I was brave enough to pick up the blanket again, knitting more stripes of hope, this time emotions flitting between determination of willing it to happen through my stitches and sadness that I had become 'that sad childless woman', knitting a blanket for a non existent baby. It became a very personal project, i didn't want to talk about it or show it to anyone anymore, but I would get it out whenever I was ready to hope, or even when I needed to cry. There are many stripes of sadness in there as I imagined the baby who would never be born. It was shoved into the bottom of the basket a few more times.
With my acceptance of our 'misfortune' I decided to dedicate the blanket to other babies, now knitting it for them, as it wasn't likely I would ever need it. Babies came and grew and I never managed to finish it in time. Or perhaps I couldn't let go of my hope, it represented me becoming a mother after all and to give it away would be losing all faith.
Recently I have picked up the blanket again and knitted new stripes in, with more speed than ever. This time they are stripes of love for a very real child who will be kept snug by the blanket soon. I hope it will be a favourite that gets dragged around everywhere. I love the fact that my future child will have something that has so much of 'me' in it.