How about some knitting actually done by me? Yes, it’s baby knitting, and while I’m hankering to work on some adult garments, there are still a fair number of mini-knits on my needles that need attention if they’re ever going to fit anyone of this generation. Plus I’m trying to stay ahead of my daughter’s growth curve and finish some things she can wear next fall. This new sweater would fit that category, except that it isn’t for her:

This is Rufus, from Kristen Rengren’s Vintage Baby Knits, finished at last for my friend Leigh’s little boy or girl. It’s more or less Rufus, anyway. I checked the book out of the library and had to return it long before I had finished, but the stitch pattern wasn’t difficult to memorize and I can produce a raglan cardi without directions. Now that I’m looking at other Rufuses on Ravelry, I see I imagined the shawl collar, but doesn’t it look just right for this professorial little sweater? I made mine by keeping the original number of stitches for each front — I did the raglan decreases, but at the same time I added new stitches right next to them and took them into the garter stitch portion for the collar. I also worked the sweater all at once rather than in pieces. However, I did note that the pattern called for a smaller needle in the garter stitch button bands, and while you might not think a quarter of a millimeter would affect the outcome much, garter has a different row gauge than the pattern stitch and I suspect you’d get rather loose, wavy button bands if you disregarded this suggestion. No one likes a wavy button band. So I worked the body on a US #5 needle, letting the bands hang out on a #4. When I came to those stitches I worked them on their own needle — just as you’d do if you were using two circulars to knit in the round.

Cute buttons, right? I thought they were appropriate, given that this baby’s last name will be Wood. The yarn is Imperial Stock Ranch Tracie in the color “Quail.” Great stuff. It’s sold as sock yarn, but I think it’s far too softly spun to hold up to foot wear. Good for baby things, though! It isn’t superwash, but this mom’s a knitter who knows what to do with wool. And I’ve found that baby sweaters made of good wool are remarkably drool resistant. I rarely do a full immersion of Ada’s sweaters; a quick squeeze of the slobber zone in lukewarm water now and then has been enough to keep them looking and smelling presentable.

I may need to make another of these for Ada. I realized as I was knitting it that it’s an awful lot like my Amanda. Matching mother-daughter sweaters? That’s only going to be cute for a couple of years. Better work that while we can, right?

Whew, two posts in two days! Didn’t think I had it in me, did you?

Most of my friends and acquaintances know I knit — doesn’t take Sherlockian powers of observation to deduce this when there’s yarn peeping out of every bag I own and I’m actively knitting it at every opportunity. So when Ada’s decked out in cute woolen hats/sweaters/booties, people always assume I made them for her. This is true less than half of the time. My girl is blessed with a great many talented knitting aunties who have made many of my favorite articles of her wardrobe. Case in point: the pear sweater.

I was so delighted to find she’d grown into this. Daphne made it for her and I think it may be the cutest sweater ever. Those stripy sleeves! Speaking of stripes, she’s also wearing this now:

Still loving the toes. I swear I try to get her to do something else in photos, but up go the feet…

But it turns out I didn’t get the shoulders quite right. I need to overlap the fronts and backs more, which may mean changing the shaping a bit as well. So we’ll call this an Okoboji prototype and I’ll add it to my list of designs that need to be tweaked and re-knit…. Anyway, back to the gifts. A fabulous blanket arrived last week from my dear New York knitting friends:

Psst… look who learned to sit, just like a real person!

Knowing my eternal admiration for Elizabeth Zimmermann, they collaborated on a Mystery Blanket for Ada. (That’s a Ravelry link; go check out the many beautiful versions others have made so you can really see what it looks like. I’ll try to get a better photo of this one.) This is the April project from The Knitter’s Almanac and EZ’s singular genius for imagining new constructions is on full display: the squares are knit from the center out and never bound off, but rather grafted together. I’ve knit a few squares of it myself for inclusion in that crazy log cabin-ish blanket that’s languishing at the bottom of my workbasket, and it is fun. As long as you don’t mind grafting. (Which I don’t. But not everyone enjoys it the way I do, and therefore I’m extra impressed that my dear friend Lisa put in as many hours of it as I know she had to for the finishing of this project.) This blanket is soft, soft, soft, and we’re loving it thoroughly.

Thank you, my knitting friends! We wish you all lived in Portland!

4 o’ clock: My baby is home, having succumbed at last to a nap in the stroller while her father took the dog to the park. Her cold, rosy cheeks smell of milk and snow.

10 o’ clock: This is my fourth visit upstairs since Ada went to bed at 7. (Mr. G and I have been taking turns.) It’s the first night we’ve put her to bed unswaddled since she was born and it isn’t going very well, but we can’t keep swaddling her forever and I’ve begun to suspect that she isn’t napping well in part because she hasn’t learned how not to wake up when her arms get capricious. She’s calling for me now, and I’m beating back the lapping edge of frustration with admiration of her effort to use consonants. Only in the past few days has she begun to mimic the patterns of English by punctuating her usual siren of vowels with bleary consonant sounds, and it pleases me that she’s giving it her best shot even in her distress. Not that she doesn’t have a weapons-grade angry howl — she’s been unleashing it upon confinement to her car seat this week — but she isn’t angry now. She’s just bewildered and exhausted. “Ah-byah-vdah-vdah-vdah-vdahv!” she explains tearfully, presenting me with all her arms and legs. What am I supposed to do with these? When I lean into the crib, she buries her little fists in my hair and pulls me close to mouth my cheek. I stroke her face, hold her hands, and she’s asleep again in a minute.

3 o’ clock: This is a long night. Ada is in bed with me, carefully bolstered against rolling; Mr. G made his own bed on the couch — I’ll stick it out with her until 5:30 or 6 and then sleep for a few hours before he has to go to work. She is twisted half to her side, back arched, arms outstretched. Those mutinous limbs have woken her every half-hour or so. I’ve stopped counting the times I’ve nursed her back to sleep or given her my little finger to suckle. (Partial night-weaning is officially on hold for a few days. We’ll take one thing at a time.)

5 o’ clock: Holding one of her hands is working fairly well to keep her asleep, but my arm is tingling in this awkward posture. I am numbering the new things my daughter has encountered in the past day or two: the taste of carrots, the light and color of a slideshow projected on the wall at a party, the alphabet song I sang for her this afternoon, the plush fur of the Corgi pup at our neighbors’ house, the heady power of sitting up in the bathtub to smack at the surface of the water, the knack of tapping the tongue to the alveolar ridge to say “da.” The work her infant brain is doing to consolidate these experiences is staggering. This is why I’m anticipating her movements to guard her sleep. I am thinking of my mother and her mother and all the mothers keeping the night vigil over their babes. I am thinking of mothers in Christchurch camping in broken houses and of mothers in Libya sheltering their little ones from violence, giving thanks that only her own healthy movements are waking my child tonight. In the cocoon of my warm bed, I am wondering whether the snow has begun.

I do, I do! And also I have a pretty dress from a beloved neighbor.