It all started after the birth of my sweet little girl. I had been knitting off and on since I was 9 and the knitting bug really took permanent hold while I was pregnant. I was a teenmom and knitting became an outlet to help me deal with the anxiety and fear of this situation I now found myself in. Well, as she grew so did my abilities and by the time she was four I decided to tackle a very simple sweater for her. Being young and naive, I bought several skeins of Red Heart acrylic 😉 and used an easy sweater pattern in a book I had.
I spent weeks working on this thing. Hours of love were poured into this little sweater. It worked up very sweetly. I had a very hard time with the finishing, the mattress stitch defied me. I finally completed the sweater and the Monkey just loved it, the first night she wore it we went out to get ice cream to celebrate. 4 Year old + ice cream= BIG MESS! I was so glad I had made this thing in something washable. So I put it in front of the washing machine as I was going to put it in the wash once I got the naked ice cream covered child out of the tub…
Did I mention that at this time the Monkey had a puppy (yep, Simon)? A big fluffy yellow ball of love and mischief. Well, this puppy had a habit of eating things, importing things, expensive things…handmade things. It really is amazing that he survived puppyhood, considering all the things he ate. When I came back downstairs to put the sweater in the wash, there sat a puppy with a sweater hanging out of his mouth, licking the ice cream with delight! I’m not sure what happened after that, I think I blacked out when I went into my phsycotic-screaming episode. All I know was, I ended up sobbing with a new sweater in hand, one sleeve eaten, the bottom ribbing half eaten and it had only been worn once. I cried, the Monkey cried, Simon cried… I kicked him.
I didn’t have the heart or the ability to fix the sweater. It got thrown out. The dog wouldn’t come near me for a week. All I had to do was lear at him and he would hide under the dining room table. Needless to say, this was the start of my sweater complex.
Ill-Fated Sweater Files continued tomorrow.
On a happier note: Mom enjoying her very soft fuzzy bed socks!