Last night we went to the elementary school for the last event ever and watched Samantha slide from the playgrounds and recesses of her childhood school up to the grand and glorious adventure that is High School.
This got me waxing pretty sentimental about years gone by. To think that now all of my lovelies are in High School or College, to know that our elementary school days are behind us? I was both proud and a little sad. I loved having little children.
(This is a totally gratuitous shot of two of my three daughters being nice to each other.)
It is no grand secret that I am partial to babies, and I think it should be no surprise that I am especially besotted by the girl babies. When my friends are expecting, I am always and forever hoping it will be a girl. I think this stems from having had only girls myself, it’s like I can’t properly imagine that they come in the boy flavour. Adoring my daughters as I do (and especially as I did when they were so wee) I feel that a daughter is the best one can hope for, and this leaves me wishing through all my friends and families pregnancies that they will deliver up girlchildren.
(I recognize that it is a good thing for the earth’s gender balance that I am not in charge of this, and that girls and boys keep getting born in almost equal proportions.) When a boy is born, I’m always a little bit surprised (why, I can’t tell you) and then even more surprised that despite my clear bias, I love them to bits nonetheless.
A baby is, as we speak, almost finished over at Lettuce Knit. Darling Megan is expecting her third, and although nobody knows for sure what is in there (other than a human child, one hopes) Megan has been confident that it is a boy, and naturally, I am opposed. From the word go, she’s said she thinks she’s making a boy, and I’ve maintained that I would prefer that she make me a girl. (This has fallen on deaf ears. Mostly because I think that Megan isn’t actually procreating just to please me.) These last several months I have been trying to bribe her with feminine little sweaters, darling hats with flowers, itty-bitty bits of lace….hundreds of promises of knits to come if only she will make me a girl. Megan has made no promises in return. Finally, accepting my lack of control over the situation, I contacted my friend Tina at Blue Moon Fiber Arts, and dragged her into it.
I explained how I felt, and I asked for two new colours, invented to commemorate the birth of….well, whomever is in there, of either gender. One should be for a girl, I told her, something for if this is “baby mine”, and something for if it is a charming little boy….” Baby yours” is how I think of it. They should be nearly solids, I said, having in mind a project or two. Tina, being entirely in love with Megan (as all folks of good sense are) agreed to do it. Imagine my surprise when the queen of colour mailed me these.
I love them, they are exactly perfect, and Tina and I had a wonderful time naming them.
The sky blue is Nyame, the Ashanti god of the sky. (I like him too because one website said he was an “emergency substitute god” that an Ashanti could pray to if they didn’t know who to pray to. Considering the worlds general confusion, I like that a lot.) Story tells that every soul is taken to Nyame before being born, and he gives them their destiny and puts a drop of the water of life in their mouth.
The pink is Quilla. Named for the moon goddess Mama Quilla of Inca lore. She is the ruler of the moon and lunar calendar (that puts her in charge of menstruation as well) and strong protector of women. When she cries, it is drops of silver.
I think they are good and fitting starts for a very welcome new baby and two sweaters…”Baby Mine” and “Baby Yours” that I have in the works. Boy or girl, this child will be clad in wool and my stitches.