To circumcrochet, or not to circumcrochet: That is the question, even if it is not the word.
I could go around again, extending this baby blanket by the width of a pencil lead on every circuit until I have an ample edging, or I could call it done.
It is, after all, as functional as it’s going to get—which isn’t saying much—and perhaps as attractive, as well. As I consider my options, I wonder what my grandmother would advise.
My mother’s mother taught me all the needle arts I know: not much, but enough to make layettes and blankets for my own children, to churn out crocheted angels for church craft fairs, and to knit shapeless shawls for old ladies and teenaged nieces as well as singularly ill-advised hats for understandably ungrateful, yea, puzzled, recipients.
Years ago, I even bought a stock of fine baby yarn when I heard that the manufacturer was discontinuing it. Not just discontinuing one unpopular colour, you understand, but the whole line. Something about people no longer wanting to spend hours and hours and hours to make impractical baby paraphernalia. I, however, was sure that I wanted to have enough yarn to make all the old-fashioned baby blankets I imagined I’d want to.
That was then.
Now, I find that it’s been a while since I’ve wanted to spend 100-ish hours making a blanket that isn’t soft (so Baby isn’t crazy about it) and that requires special washing care (so Parents aren’t either). Imagine that.
In any event, I’m late to need, no matter how I look at it. The intended recipient is one month old today, and the baby I started it for enrolled in Grade 1 six weeks ago.
I think we’re done here. I’m pretty sure Gram would understand. I’m positive that Dylan would.