I am not a dainty woman. At five foot six inches I am not overly tall, but I will never be described as petite. Gamine is another word that would never be associated with me. My facial features are strong. Especially my nose. I am slender, but I have a big frame. My bones are big. I have a strong sturdy body. A work horse of a body. It serves me well, but it is not a dainty body. My hands are large. I will never get to take those cute pictures you see on pinterest where the baby's hand rests in the Mother's hand which rests in the Father's hand. Around here it would have to be Baby's hand, Daddy's hand, Mommy's hand. My hands are larger than The Greatest's. Sometimes that makes me feel unfeminine. But they are strong hands with nimble fingers. They too serve me well. They knit sweaters, and give amazing back rubs, and make home made pizza dough, and play piano. We're not really any good at that last one, but you can't blame that on my hands. They do the best they can with what they have to work with. I love my hands. I think they are beautifully formed. But they are not dainty.
Unfortunately even my great big giant work horse hands aren't going to fit these wrist warmers.
My gauge is off, and this project is measuring HUGE.
I knew my gauge was measuring on the larger side. I had hoped that if I cast on for the smallest size I would end up with a finished object that was roughly the largest size.
That's not going to happen.
I contemplated trashing the entire project. I was tempted to tuck the yarn away, way way way in the back of my yarn cabinet, and to restore the needles to their place of solitude on my kitchen counter, as if this entire unfortunate affair had never occurred. After all, I have yarn for a new Knit Picks project coming on Wednesday. Is this really the time to be messing with a fussy personal project. Not to mention the fact that Sweet Pea's sweater still needs sleeves. Plus I still need to finish sewing the baby wrap. And does anyone remember the baby's quilt? All those tiny tiny triangles waiting to be sewn into tiny squares, waiting to be sewn into quilt blocks, waiting to be sewn into a quilt top, waiting to be quilted, waiting to be bound, waiting to be loved? I remember them. They call to be from The Abyss. They haunt my dreams at night. Not to mention all the cooking, and cleaning, and pumping, and mothering, and wife-ing that needs done around here on a daily basis.
No with all these factors pressing down on me I did the only reasonable thing I could do.
I got out my calculator.
Taking my personal gauge into account, I re-wrote the pattern, hoping to end up with something more human sized.
I am not holding out hope that this project will miraculously coalesce into something that I love. I am fairly certain this project will end in a trip to the frog pond, with the yarn ultimately being hidden way way way in the back of the yarn cabinet, until I have forgiven it for letting me down. But in the mean time, until my Knit Picks project arrives, this keeps me off the streets and out of trouble.
Which is good.
Because we all know there's nothing worse than a thirty-something mother of five randomly roaming the streets, looking for something to get into.
In other news I couldn't resist any longer.
I painted the baby's toes. Not her toe nails exactly. She wouldn't hold still enough for that. So I painted her toes.
And I love them.