three little coffee beans, and so much more

Three Little Coffee Bean sweaters, in three different sizes, colour and stripe were knitted in the brief time of my too-short last pregnancy. But not *just* three Little Coffee Beans (which were btw fabulous to knit, my very favourite sweater ever now, hands down beats the Classic Cardigan by Debbie Bliss. Sorry Debbie).



I seemed to have knitted all out of proportion to the length of that pregnancy, and it might have had something to do with the notion I had in mind of knitting an entire wardrobe from 0 to 12 months. Uh-huh. I look at this big pile of woolly garments and am astonished I did so much. In so little time. It's nice. I don't feel weird about it all, although I can see how one could very easily tilt that way. The way I see it, I relished the beautiful yarns sliding through my fngers. I loved every inch of their making. But you know what? I feel like shrugging. Sure there is no baby to wear them now. And it makes me sad that it is so. But one day there might be. And if not mine then I am certainly stocked with baby gifts for quite a while.



I am sad, but not excessively so. Because for whatever reasons my body did it's thing. In it's wisdom it was wise. If I listen I can see life does what it does, reasons are not to be queried endlessly. Because you could grieve forever that way. And still be right in the same place when you had finished doing so.

And so I will make soup today, and concentrate on today only. I might see if The Girl fancies making gingerbread. We will walk the dog (in the rain). I will try and finish the girl's mittens. I will think of today, and maybe tomorrow and not ask to much of the reasons for things being so. It's about as happy as a person can be. In fact it's how I get to be my happiest.





What a pile though! I might be in with some record breaking in the striped department. Um, I guess I really love stripes! And multi colour yarn. And knitting for babies. That I do. I really do.



Love to the mama's today and the babies, and the ones who didn't make it. Now and then. And to the gap in between which we all sometimes find ourselves living in.



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edited to add

This is great miscarriage support website. I found lots comfort there. I love it's simple and direct approach. Also Sherene at the nurtured life has some great resources and support links to check out.

I also feel broody. But that's a given, no? I have come to think of it as simply part of the female condition. Of being female, and young and fertile. Of course broodiness comes along with that. Especially now My Girl has weaned. She has done so much earlier than her brothers (they were, um about 5). I realised recently that she just doesn't ask any more and bedtimes she falls asleep after I have read to her and she puts her face into the space between my shoulder and chin. No milk. So I think this lack of nursing, this space I find myself in, physically, contributes to that ache of want.

I am finding that I have these weird moments, these short seconds of something a bit like panic - this feeling of - counting heads and finding myself short. It's sort of as close to that as I can describe. Like there's a certain thing missing I can't quite place. And I have to physically straighten myself shake it off. I think it's the body feeling of having started something that cannot be completed. There will always be that sense of poise on the edge of a thing about to happen. I remember it. And I can feel why woman in this place would rush to get pregnant instantly again.

But also as my years creep by (for once I actually did do just that, hello Esmé!) and the time of being a mother and woman carries me further along I see the rightness in a big pause. A sense of letting time settle and of letting things have their place. Of not rushing, but letting the sadness be if it is, of letting the broodiness sit on me. It won't crush me, but I feel I have a lesson to learn from it. Some days I don't know what it might be, and I weep when the dog causes some mayhem when I might as easily have laughed. I suppose letting things be. As they are. Is a lesson in it's self. There are tiny wisps of time, like early morning mist that soon vanishes, when I do actually feel like I might one day become the woman who fears nothin'.