It very much appears that our spare room/junk room/additional wardrobe room may perhaps have magically turned into a sweet little nursery. We have a chest of drawers full of ready washed little baby clothes (which was just about the cutest laundry load I’ve ever pegged out – the scratch mitts are smaller than my clothes pegs!), and other useful baby type things; and next to it, the chair of great wonder and awesome comfort (a very special treat from H’s parents).
And next to it is a bag all packed, well almost all packed; packed with a little list of things to be thrown in at the last minute – I can’t really not use my hairbrush or my toothbrush for the next however long it takes just so that I can say that I’m totally packed.
The changing mat stands ready and waiting on top of the cot,
and little horse and hedgehog are ready and waiting for someone to play with.
Although tiny wee zebra and tiny wee giraffe may be more to the scale of the future incumbent of this moses basket.
We have nappies and muslin squares and cotton wool and all sorts of things that smell essentially baby. There’s just one thing missing – a certain little person, whole whilst terribly wriggly as I sit writing, shows no signs of planning on making an imminent arrival (unlike the son of an antenatal class colleague who made his arrival at exactly 38 weeks on Saturday morning to the surprise of the rest of the class and no doubt his delighted parents).
Well little baby of mine, your nursery is all ready and waiting for you, your mother can collapse your buggy on two out of three attempts so we won’t be completely housebound when your father is at work, and I’ve been practicing clipping your car seat and pram cot in and out of the chassis so we’re looking good. I know you’re keen to meet your Daddy because I feel how you wriggle towards him whenever you hear his voice, and if it’s the chicken and salami pasta sauce that I made for supper that you’re so keen on, I promise to make it again. All in all, we’re ready to meet you any time you feel like it.
Oh, and I made you a blanket:
Every time I finish one of these and pull it off the blocking wires I know exactly why I’ve now knitted four identical blankets. It’s kismet, a unity of Baby Cashmerino and a classic pattern. It’s possible that I could knit another of these for a niece or nephew someday, but I might choose something different, in which case, this is my last (and best) alphabet blanket. It doesn’t have the technical whiztrickery of an Alice Starmore blanket (which is awaiting the baby in a drawer, guarded by cedar block sentries), or the nubbly texture of a Cox’s Orange Pippin blanket, but I’d like to think that it has a classic elegance, and whereas Point Reyes is specifically Baby Bear’s, this is the blanket that I hope I get to wrap around all of my children.
I’ve got one little thing on the needles that is for the bear, but if it doesn’t get finished, it isn’t the end of the world, and the knitting for other people’s babies and my quilting can always wait, but I’m not going to say that I’ve finished this baby’s knitting just yet – I’d still like to have time to clean the bathroom.