This kid. I love him. He makes my heart explode. He asked for a scarf that he’ll probably never wear (because, honestly, the first one didn’t exactly get a ton of use), but I don’t care. I knit it anyway.
I spent a ridiculous number of nights on the sofa, watching YouTube videos to teach myself brioche (it was on my bucket list ), working an inch or two of the scarf, and then unraveling it. Over and over again. At first I made too many mistakes. Then it was too wide. Later the edges had me all curfluffled and were too messy.
I wanted it to be perfect for Reed. Even though I knew he wouldn’t care or notice. Love is not perfect. It’s just love. I won’t go so far as to assert that I knit all my love for Reed into this scarf. No scarf–or any material thing–could ever contain all the love I feel for my son. It’s just not possible. But I did try hard. Because that’s what moms do.
I will admit the scarf was met with a luke warm reception. At best. I think because it wasn’t orange. Or uber-bright. My spirits weren’t dampened. I don’t expect him to understand just how much of myself I pour into his very existence. That’s my job as his mom–to love too much. (It’s also a good reason to broaden the color spectrum of my diminished stash. Add in some more orange. Ya know, for next year.)
I’m halfway done with Reed’s next sweater. It “just” needs sleeves and a hood. I have thirteen days until his fifth birthday, and I think I might actually make it if I turn up the heat real high.