There is something about the way that I am put together. something hidden on my genome somewhere, some experience or virus or something, some little mysterious part that takes who I am, and everything I believe and how I want to be seen by others, and smashes it into a million pieces whenever I see baby booties.
Let’s be clear. I am not a baby-talker. I don’t use baby words or cutesie stuff, even with the tiniest of humans. Babies do not have "itty-bittie-nosies" or "bummie wummies". I’m not judging baby talk, and you can do if if you want to, but I’ve got me a whole boatload of witnesses who can verify that I speak to babies straight up, telling them the way things are. I have been known, frequently, to pick up a crying baby and simply ask them to stop. I rock, sway, bounce and comfort them all the while saying things like "Hey, hey. All this yelling is not nice. I’m right here, and I’m listening. There’s no need to get rude." It works for me. (Actually, it doesn’t just work for me. I have a great track record on the baby communication scale. They dig me.)
The point is that there’s no explanation for what happens to me when I get around booties. They’re like kryptonite to me. I see them and I literally have to bite my tongue not to say "teensie weensie widdle shoosies! To go on widdle ba ba feetsies!"
Sometimes I even have the urge to stick my fingers into them and walk them around. (Sometimes, I am not able to overcome this urge.)
It’s not a good look man. Not a good look. It’s like having an out of body experience. I hear myself doing it. I am disgusted by myself, and I am helpless to stop. These booties were particularly bad. First, they are very little. They are newborn sized, and to make matters worse, they are fuzzy. They are not as fuzzy as I wanted, which is probably the only thing that kept me from stroking out from the colossal level of cute they’re packing. I used my Cutest Bootie pattern, modified for fewer stitches, on account of my thicker handspun. I love them to death, but I am going to try for a do-over. I want them fuzzier. I’m going to keep treating these bootees like swatches for the sweater I’m thinking of. When I get a pair that I’m happy with, I’ll make more of that yarn and finish the set. I am going to do this mostly alone, so that there are no witnesses for the spasm of helpless baby-talking they seem to bring on.
I am sad to report however, that it would appear that this flaw is genetic. As Sam arrived home from school, she espied the booties on the table, grabbed them up with two hands, got an expression of delight on her face that I know oh, oh too well, and then proclaimed "Oh! They are so WIDDLE!" Then I saw the shock come over her as she realized what she had said. I looked away. The worst part is knowing that there’s no way to help her. This appears to be a lifetime condition, with no hope for recovery.
PS: I wanted to tell everybody about this great event in Conifer, Colorado, at the Knit Knook. I’ll be there June 22-23. First for a talk that has lots of room, and then for a silk class (my favourite one to teach, it’s so much fun) and then for a sock class in the afternoon. I hope I see you there. I don’t get out that way often, so I’m pretty excited.
PPS: I know that I said I was probably giving away Karmic Balancing gifts today, but I can also see from my inbox that some of you haven’t responded to the email that explained how to enter. I don’t want anyone left out, so go check your mail! I’ve rescheduled for Monday, just to give you a little more time. If you’re still thinking about donating, you’re a peach. I’ll send the thank you/how to enter email tomorrow night, and Sunday night, to cover anyone who feels the urge to donate over the weekend. Thanks so much knitters. You’re amazing.