Endless baby sweater indeed.
That’s right, all done. It’s a good job that blogs don’t have any live action camera thingies to show you my real life because I don’t look nearly as triumphant as I feel. Lets pretend that I have competently and calmly finished the baby sweater with no upset or curse words, and that I really didn’t mind the last knitted up hem (you knew I would do that) and that the making up doesn’t take almost as long as the sweater. I would like to note at this time that there is a special place in my heart for the inventor of set-in sleeves. It is a cruel irony in my life that I am destined to love them, yet hate sewing them in with a passion that remains undimmed after all these years.
My current set-in sleeve strategy consists of the following technique.
1. Block body piece and arm of sweater. Spend an insane amount of time trying to ensure that they are “sort of” the same size. (On especially vehement days you can have a bonus rant about row gauge at this point in the making up.)
2. Contemplate revolutionizing the knitting world by starting to put a template for the blocking of set in sleeves in every pattern. Just pin to the arm shape and to the body shape and mist. The two would be guaranteed to fit. If I am the only one who understands the need for this, then I suppose I could accept a pattern schematic in a far more detailed way than they exist now. Should the pattern fail to provide me with these things, I’m going to need the address of the designer.
3. Tell all that to Joe. Feel warm feelings for him as he tries desperately to look like he cares about my set-in sleeve strategy, even though he has no idea what I’m talking about.
4. Begin sewing the sleeves in. Decide that I’m feeling lucky and start sewing the sleeve in from one side. Mock knitters who baste.
5. Start to feel nervous and unlucky. Decide to pin the top of the sleeve to the shoulder seam…just to increase the odds of the two of them meeting up.
6. Feel the first urge to use foul language as I realize that I have more sleeve than hole, or more hole than sleeve. Resist to the urge to actually use the foul language because I mocked basting knitters and deserve anything I get.
7. Rip out the sleeve. Use a little foul language, but not really angrily, just as sort of “creative colour”.
8. Begin to sew the sleeve in again and abstain from the mocking. Use the pin at the top, but change nothing else…since not mocking the basting knitters should be enough to alleviate my punishment.
9. Wonder abstractly if any other knitters are ever punished for mocking me. Feel briefly guilty for hoping that they do.
10. Curse violently when I look along the sleeve and realize that I have more sleeve than hole or more hole than sleeve.
11. Still morally unable to baste the sleeve in, (it’s a disease, like not swatching) I thread two needles. I use one to sew the top in, and then use both of them alternately from the two sides to work toward the top.
12. Do a little dance when I get the sleeve in properly. Belittle the sleeve in a loud voice while my husband and children look nervous. Say things to the sweater like “That’s right, you are DONE. Who did you think you were dealing with! Eh? You wimpy little armhole, you thought you could take me on? You thought I haven’t dealt with your kind before? Eh? HA! I got skills. That’s right. SKILLS. Lucky I don’t block your arse SEVERELY. That’s right. Mess with me. I don’t think so.”
13. Remember that it is better to mock the sweater after both sleeves are in.
14. Stop mocking the sweater, try to look sane.
15 Repeat steps 4-11 once, and step 12 two or three times.
Start something else.
Endless baby sweater indeed.