a stitch in time
Patchwork. For me, it’s right up there with weaving as an archetypal female act of creativity, something I blame Alice Walker for. Ironic then, given that Ms Walker turned out not to be such a role model for her own daughter, that I’m preparing for motherhood by making my first quilt. It’s monotonous, pernickety work to stitch a quilt by hand, but I find myself drawn to it.
While I patch my thoughts turn to Sprout and I have little chats with the fast-growing interloper: helloooo baby! I’m going to try to be a good mother. I’m really sorry that we don’t have a nursery for you, but I hope you know you’re loved. I try to put into coherent words the idea of who TA and I are or were before Sprout came into our lives. I have little daydreams about what it’ll be like to have Sprout on the outside; some of them look like nightmares.
I write mental lists of things to ask TA to fix before January - rip up the remaining carpet, install laminate, build floor-to-ceiling shelving and cupboards in the living room, switch round a couple of the kitchen units so that we can fit a full-size fridge-freezer in (even though TA has already told me this is beyond his DIY skills)...he looked alarmed beyond belief when I told him why I wanted to upgrade to a bigger freezer. We’ll need to start freezing breast milk so that you can feed Sprout if I’m not here, I explained. TA looked rather milky at the thought.
The quilt is growing very slowly, in fact I’m less than one-twelfth done, but I’m sure I’ll get it finished before the big arrival. With every stitch I’m sewing my hopes and perhaps growing a little bit into the role of mum. I hope I’m ready in time.