There is no doubt about it. I love to knit. I'm pretty obsessed with it. I love to sit and think and work wool with my needles. Sometimes I like what I am making and sometimes I don't. In the end though, I can not beat the sense of accomplishment, no matter how small or repetitive, it is to finish something that started out as string.
When knitting for others or myself, there are some items that just speak more to me. Today, I put my little Logan in a sweater I made for him well before he was born. I loved making the sweater. I love the pattern, Baby Surprise Jacket, and even more the pattern maker. But today, while sitting in church, lovingly petting him and cooing to him while I listened to his squeaks and grunts, my mind drifted to when I made this. My mind often drifts while in the silence of peace at church, I really can not help it. When I made this sweater, I specifically remember all of the places I sat while I made it. A big chunk was done by my boys' Geotown and while listening to them create the stories to go with their trains. Another chunk would have been done waiting for the Dr. at one of the never ending OB appointments. The last chunk was on the couch late at night while I tried to knit in the rhythm of Logan's kicks or hiccups (that always began at 11 p.m. -without fail). At all the places I worked on this, I thought of him. How would he look? Smell? Feel? How would his personality be? Like Reagan or Mason or completely his own (which it is, thankfully).
Knitting is special. It can be so rhythmic and centering and perfect for reflecting or hoping. My husband thinks I'm a loon for commenting on how I love this sweater on him today. I bet I've said it or petted him in it way too many times for a sane person. You can't but help love something you made out of love that is on someone you love so much.