I was born in
January of 2015 when Christa, in all her ambition, decided to knit a blanket
for her friend, Lindsey’s, baby girl (Aubin) due to arrive in April of that
year. I was born as, what is soon to be seen, a naïve idea. I first took form
later that month in January in seven skeins of super-soft Merino wool yarn. My
colors were heather mauve, creamy off-white, gray, warm beige, and dusty pink –
all selected carefully to compliment Aubin’s nursery. My overall design was
single strips of color, each in a differing pattern, with the pink and the gray
repeated once. I was gorgeous in Christa’s mind and on paper. However, what I
eventually became was something else.
As the wool
yarn was so fine and delicate, the knitting took much, much, MUCH longer than
anticipated (again, the naivety). April came. Aubin was born. I wasn’t even a
third finished. Trust me; it wasn’t due to a lack of diligence on Christa’s
part. She had been working on me four or five times a week at one to two hour
intervals for almost three months. Christa was a hard worker. Christa was just
stupid.
After missing
the April date, I kind of lingered in this state of teenage angst for the next
six months. Christa might have picked me up once or twice a week, again for a one
or two hour interval, but it seemed that any progress I made had to literally
be unraveled due to Christa’s fumble fingers. There were dropped stitches,
there was frayed yarn, and there were misinterpretations of pattern that had to
be redone row by row. Various “Knitting for Dummies” videos were bookmarked on
YouTube.
In this time
period, I also began my travels. I’ve been gently packaged away and carried all
over the place. I haven’t seen much – just the inside of a suitcase and the
insides of various living spaces. Still, I think it’s important to note where
I’ve been. Most of my life, I’ve been in North Carolina, obviously, but I’ve
also been on car trips back to Bloomington, Illinois. Two of them, actually,
which means I’ve also been in hotels in Ohio and West Virginia. I’ve seen at
least one hotel room in Chicago. I faintly remember being in Louisville, though
I can’t quite solidify the memory. My most fateful trip was one to
Indianapolis, but more on that later. So, I’ve only known maybe seven different
cities, spread out across about as many states. However, I’m still very, very
young, so I consider myself somewhat worldly.
Around the
end of last year, let’s say December-ish, Christa was struck with an anxiety
attack. She realized that Aubin’s 1st birthday, which had originally
been a comfortable goal for completing me (after missing the actual birth DAY),
was now only four months away. I was about half done, but considering Christa’s
track record, four months was not a lot of time. She kicked it back into high
gear. I was again getting attention nearly every day. Things were moving.
Things were shaking. I was within realization.
Then.
Indianapolis.
This was
February 2016, and Christa had been buzzing along for a good two months now. I
was maybe two thirds of the way done, but there hadn’t been as many mistakes
and unravelings. The end was in sight! Christa once again gingerly packed me
away for a trip to Indianapolis to see her manfriend. She was at the airport in
Raleigh. Because of the late flight, she had some time to kill. She began to
pull me from her suitcase. She pulled gingerly, but she pulled from the wrong
end of the knitting needle. Before she knew what was happening, I had collapsed
onto myself. I was more than one half off of the needle and stitches were
dropping a third of the way down. I was coming apart.
Christa
panicked. She decided to secure the needle the best she could and put me away
until she could be in a better lit and less crowded space so I could be spread
out and examined thoroughly for a remedy. We got to the hotel in Indy and
Christa tearfully told Doug (the manfriend) what happened. He asked to see the
damage, but Christa was terrified at this point that if she moved me at all, I
would be completely destroyed.
It is here
that I should make note of the “village” that raised me. The saying “it takes a
village to raise a child” is most definitely true when it comes to me. Christa
is a novice, so she’s needed a bit of help along the way. First, there’s Doug,
the support system. Doug didn’t help in any physical way, but he’s heard about
me day in and day out, through all of the aches and pains. Second, there’s
Christa’s mom, Cathy, who functioned as a secondary support system. She didn’t
have to hear about me very often, but she had to hear about me enough to want
me to just be finished already. Finally, there were all of the amazing women
Christa tried to consult in a desperate attempt to make everything OK after
Indianapolis – Christa’s grandma (Mary Ann), Doug’s mom (Marilee), Christa’s
aunt (Jan), Christa’s stepmom (Della). Basically anyone who was a relative of
Christa who might have even THOUGHT about knitting or crocheting at some point
in her life was contacted for help. However, it was Mary Ann and Marilee who
would give Christa the encouragement to move past the loss and finish me.
I was fully
unraveled after Indianapolis. There was no saving me. Now, with only two months
left and with some encouragement from Marilee, Christa decided to switch to
crocheting. She was told crocheting was MUCH faster than knitting, though the
stitches were a little more difficult. A new pattern was found, and new yarns
were selected. I kept the same color scheme, but my yarn was now much stronger
and easier to work with. I am now brown, gray, magenta, cream, and pink – stronger,
brighter colors. Christa got to work, and Marilee was right, crocheting was
much, much, MUCH faster. In less than one month, Christa accomplished more than
she had in one year knitting me. There were still issues. Since this was
Christa’s first time crocheting, I look a little unkempt. Some of my stitches
are uneven. In a suggestion from Mary Ann, I have a sort of crooked border
around me to even up my sides, which appeared to narrow as my row after row, my
stitches became more sure and tight. Also, the wavy pattern I was supposed to
be didn’t come out right, so I look a little simple. There are little tufts of
yarn where the ends weren’t woven in quite right.
I may not be
the most beautiful blanket. In fact, I know I am not the most beautiful
blanket. In a word, I look pretty homeless. However, I am willing to bet that
as much love went into making me that has ever gone into making anything. Part
of the reason I am here is because Christa is simultaneously naive in her
ambition, OCD, and unwilling to give up. However, the bigger part of the reason
I am here is because Christa loves Lindsey, Christa loves Aubin, and Christa
wanted her to have something special.
After reading
my story, there is one last thing I wanted to say to Lindsey. You don’t have to
love me. You don’t have to cherish me. All I ask is that for Christa’s sanity,
you PRETEND that you love me and maybe once a year take me out of a drawer,
dust me off, and take a picture of me like I’ve been sitting proudly in Aubin’s
room the whole time. That would be amazing. Also, I may be somewhat hideous,
but if you were to put a price tag on me for some garage sale or something, my
estimated value is:
$52/hour *
(1.5hrs/interval * 4 intervals/wk * 15wks + 1hr/interval * 2 intervals/wk *
40wks + 2hrs/interval * 7 intervals/wk * 5wks) + $40 knitting materials + $40
crocheting materials =
…
$12,560*
*Note – Value
does not include any pain and suffering endured
HAPPY
BIRTHDAY, AUBIN!
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