Sewing: Works In Progress for July
Well! I have been sewing. A very teensy little bit, every day while the kids nap (or play in their room during “quiet time,” or squeak and grunt in their swing).
I began with a totally improvised quilt, which should be doll-sized or a crib quilt on the small side — maybe 25x40”, when I get it done. Maybe larger. I haven’t cut the white borders yet and that will make a difference on the final size of the quilt top.
The end effect will be of these green and blue haphazard blocks floating on a sea of white, in a 4 by 5 grid. It will be backed by the nubby turquoise, which I originally bought to make a blouse but which seemed far better suited to a quilt back, and bordered with the orange gauze, maybe, if it works with my new bias tape maker. If it doesn’t, I’ll figure out a different border.
I’ve also been doing one of these blocks every few months. I’ve no idea what I’m going to do with them; i can’t see me coming up with enough for a quilt, and they don’t really go with anything, but I like them nonetheless.
What else. I’ve been trying to sew a couple shirts for this postpartum belly, since I have the option of making the bust one size and the waist and hips another (can’t get that with retail).
I had bought enough white eyelet (why? I am not an eyelet girl) to make the Built by Wendy blouse with ruffles and a tie, but decided against the ruffles and tie and therefore had enough left over to do one of the short-sleeved views on 3887. I cut them both out and started putting together the 3887. All was well, except I dialed the tension too high, so the side seams are puckered. Then I scorched the right sleeve when i turned the heat up too high on my iron. Then I ended up sewing the right sleeve inside out and backwards, despite checking it against the right armhole twice. So I had to rip that out and do it again. I forgot to cut a second neck facing, so it will be faced with an Amy Butler print from my fat quarter stash. Then when I was fusing the interfacing to what I had left of the eyelet, it shrank and bubbled (why? I don’t know). So. I am on a real roll with this one. If it is at all wearable I will be surprised. I have yet to gather the neck and sew on the neckband and do the hem. Who knows what else could go wrong!
Things didn’t go much better with the BBW blouse (4111). I cut out the pieces but did the markings with my fading pen instead of my water-soluble one. Which means when I revisited the pieces the next day all my markings were gone and I had to do them over. I ran out of fusible interfacing. Then when I had enough and was cutting out the next to last piece, I cut through the other interfaced neckband. So this shirt will have to have an Amy Butler contrasting print for a neckband, too. Oy. That’s pretty much when I gave up on this one yesterday. We’ll see how it goes when I revisit it.
Both shirts were made with what I’m calling a Post-Partum Adjustment, which means sewing my “normal” (pregnant and breastfeeding) bust size but blending down to almost two sizes larger in the waist and hip. Hopefully that will leave enough ease to be comfortable.
Which is totally what I should have done when sewing my fallback shirt, Built by Wendy 3585. One of the easiest shirts in the world to sew.
Here it is, discarded in a lump in a fit of pique. When I sewed my maternity version, the back seemed way too loose and gapey, so I decided to add the darts in this version. I figured, how much fat could I have in my back, anyway? Can’t go wrong.
Well, you can go wrong when you forget that you don’t have a lot of room in the front to make up for it. I sewed this without the Maternity Belly Adjustment, just my regular size top to bottom, and that was a mistake when you figure in the darts. There is about three millimeters of room around the waist and it looks awful. I might be able to wear it in a few months but I’m not counting on it. And stupid me already trimmed the darted fabric so I can’t let it out.
So. That’s what I’ve been working on. It hasn’t been very satisfying, with all the mistakes I’ve been making. But I’ve got a coupon for 50% off denim at Joann, and I’m going to try my hand at the Sew U skirt and pants — hopefully I’ll remember to adjust for the postpartum belly and hips, and make myself some bottoms for the meantime.
7 weeks
Betcha forgot I had a newborn in the house, eh? Well, I didn’t. Kind of hard to when you’re living with the buggers.
So, Cormac is seven weeks old now. He’s so cute. His baby acne is almost gone and some of that long dark newborn hair is falling out. He coos and gurgles and smiles. He really doesn’t cry that much and is fairly easy to soothe. Now, he does eat every three hours, even at night, so he is not without his flaws. Plus the fact that he still does that groaning grunting squirming thing every morning between 4 and 7.
But look how cute!
He’s still nursing, which means I made it to my initial goal of 6 weeks. I’m psyched. And totally blase about it now.
Places I have nursed the baby
- The park with the blue tunnel
- the “castle playground” as Owen calls it
- the parking lot at Mars
- the tile aisle at Home Depot
- Dr L’s office
- Dr W’s office
- assorted rest areas on the Ohio turnpike
- Pollyeye’s (B.G. restaurant)
- Applebee’s
- the library
- while cooking spaghetti
So basically, everywhere we’ve been in the last seven weeks.
Cormac is not exclusively breastfed; I think that term is kind of offensive, actually, as if that would be better than not. (This might be because Owen was bottlefed and I still feel defensive about it because anonymous BF militants on the internet are mean.) He gets a bottle of formula every few days from Iain because Dr Karp, my favorite author ever, recommends keeping them familiar with bottles and because I don’t like to pump. But the actual feeding of the bottle is kind of a hassle. He’ll take it from me, but apparently gives Iain a hard time. Funny bunny.
As for me, being 7 weeks postpartum? Well. Exhausted, for starters (and finishers, really). I had gotten down to my pre-pregnancy weight, according to the at-home scale, but then at the doctor’s office it said I had 5 lbs yet to go. And a more recent weigh-in on our janky home scale said I now had 10 lbs to go. What. The. Eff.
So. Not only am I a rolling jelly roll, but I am at my heaviest non-pregnancy weight ever. I feel uncomfortable with this. It’s annoying that I was trying to pack on weight while I was pregnant and being unsuccessful, and yet now that I’m nursing it is stubbornly refusing to fall off. Even my fat pants don’t fit. I kind of … don’t know what to wear. According to my measurements (what kind of masochist busts out the measuring tape at this stage?) I am now a full three dress sizes larger on the bottom. And only one on the top.
Anyway. It doesn’t actually matter. It’s just vanity. Well, that and wanting to be able to breathe while wearing pants. What I really need to do is just look at his smiling face and remember why my body is such a mess in the first place.
We made it five years
I love this guy.
This was us five years ago in Grand Rapids, Ohio.
And today.
But with a few additions
I’d say things are going well.
Love you, hon.
Snakes on a motherf-ckin’ toddler
The sound track to my life these days:
OH NO! There’s a snake on me! It’s scaryscary.
I’m a lion. I’ma RAWR you.
Where my hammer? I’ma BAM you.
This is a SHARPTOOTH. It’s scaryscary.
Oh no! Waah. I’m scared.
There’s a SNAKE on me, Mom! Aaah!
I have a stick! It’s a hose. I’ma spray you. You’re all wet! Uh oh!
This stick has FIRE. I’ma fire you.
Oh no! There’s a snake in the water! Aaah!
This is my drill. I’ma fix you. No, I’ma DRILL you. Whirrrr.
Mom! There’s a snake on you!
… Snake on the baby?
Snake on the baby.
SNAKE ON THE BABY, Mom! Aaah!
le kitchen, c’est fini*
Iain did all those cabinets himself.
*Pardon me, I don’t know French.
Fallout boy (the night the binkies died)
Okay! Cold-turkey binkie removal is a BITCH. Do not attempt at home. He cried for a straight two hours at bedtime Wednesday and naptime Thursday and bedtime Thursday and just plain skipped the nap today. Just plain falling out. But this evening he finally accepted the sad, dreary truth.
Stupid idea: To tell a two year old that you are mailing his binkies to the other babies who need them. Because now he keeps saying, “but they’re MY binkies.” To which we need to reply with a pointless explanation of 1. what “gone” means or 2. the concept of giving to the needy. Neither make a dent. Stupid stupid stupid.
Anyway. If he is anything like his parents, though, cold turkey is the only way to quit his addiction. It hurts for about three days and then you’re good to go. I figure by tomorrow I’ll have my Owen back.
Will the gifter please step forward?
We received this totally awesome onesie in the mail: either we have very generous yet anonymous frends, or there was a happy accident at the post office. Thank you, whoever you are.1
Update: Mystery solved! Thank you, Kim and Ella!
It’s his party and I’m guessing he’ll cry if he wants to
YOU’RE INVITED PLEASE JOIN US FOR CUPCAKES AND TRAGEDY
WHAT: BYE BYE BINKIE PARTY
WHEN: WEDNESDAY 7 P.M.
WHO: OWEN
WHERE: THE LIVING ROOM, I’M GUESSING
WHY: BECAUSE 2 AND A HALF IS TOO OLD TO STILL HAVE A BINKIE AND IF I DON’T DO IT NOW, FRANKLY I’M NOT SURE IT’S EVER GOING TO GET DONE.
Note to guests: No gifts! We will be playing games such as Pin The Binkie On The Baby, Spin The Binkie, Hide and go Binkie, and Gather Up The Binkies For Prompt And Efficient Destruction. Please dress accordingly (no sandals!). If you have a latex or silicone allergy please alert the hostess and wear appropriate protective gear. Earplugs and soothing excuses will be provided.
Kitchen: new floor. New backsplash.
Progress continues apace. My father-in-law and Iain make a dangerously competent combination — things get fixed just by being in their presence.
kitchen looks better already
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