I started Poplar Blanket early in my pregnancy, and was finished the knitting by July or so, but I didn't finish or block it. Instead, I folded it and set it aside. A few days ago, I decided it was time to weave in all those ends and block it to really show the lace pattern. I ran it through the delicate cycle to prepare for wet blocking, and pulled it out to find - horror! - mouse holes that had unraveled.
The first hole was near the top of the blanket, so I ripped out that whole section, removed the damaged yarn, and reknitted with the good yarn. You can't even see the problem area.
During the repair
|After the repair, the damaged area is no more!|
As I'm reknitting the cast on edge of this blanket, piecing together the small balls of yarn, I'm meditating on this thought: I've been mulling over how difficult this labor and birth will be. I've been scared of what obstacles we will need to overcome to get to the end. I worry about the emotions that will come up, I dread reliving the fear and hurt and heartbreak of four years ago, and of a year and a half ago. But I know I can do it, and that it must be done.
When I knitted this blanket, I had a picture in my mind of wrapping my newborn child in this lace pattern, this soft, supple wool. When I pulled it out of the washing machine and spread it out to see the disaster before me, tears sprung to my eyes. It was unfixable. It was ruined, and I needed to start all over. As I stepped back and analyzed it, though, I realized it was going to be hard work, it might take a while, but I could make it come together. I could fulfill the dream, and prepare this blanket once more to wrap my new little love.
And in that way, this blanket became a symbol of a greater journey. With every stitch, I knit intention right into it. Intention for a safe journey through labor, the courage to face my demons, and the wisdom to release what isn't serving me.
|the grafted area, from the wrong side|
|a right side view|
|the finished grafting, ready to have the ends woven (again)|