A little over two years ago, I began knitting a sweater for myself (this lovely wrap sweater, to be exact).
It took me about two months to get through all the various pieces—left front, right front, back, a sleeve (frogged), a redesigned sleeve, a second sleeve to match the redesigned sleeve, ties, and the neckband. In that time, I blocked it, dried it, and mostly sewed it together. I had only to sew on the sleeves and the ties and get the position of the slit for the tie to slip through when I put it down.
I picked it up again tonight. Less than 90 minutes later, I was finished with the sweater.
I really like the sweater, of course—a bright red, soft yarn, beautiful pattern. As its maker, I naturally see its flaws (not to mention body flaws I’ve acquired in the past two years!), but I think I’ll still be pretty happy to wear it.
However, it’s embarrassing how long it’s taken me to finally bite the bullet and finish it. Some of the delay, naturally, can be explained by flat-out forgetfulness—and procrastination.
Frankly, having waited so long for the reward of this sweater has made it less of a reward, and not because my body’s changed or the sweater’s any less lovely than it was two years ago—but because I’m embarrassed that I let something so close to finished languish so long and because it’s frustrating that I could have had this sweater two winters ago.
I’ll be glad to enjoy this sweater this year (and don’t worry, pictures to follow soon!), though.
Maybe this is another reason why motherhood feels so hard sometimes (a lot of the time!)—so we can appreciate the end product more. What do you think?
