One lovely weekend in the mountains later, I'm feeling a great deal more settled, although the sadness came back as I walked into the baby room to look at my husband's new plants. It made me a little bitter. There's something growing in there, but not my baby.
The weekend was restful, though. My knitting group headed up on a retreat that I planned about a month and a half ago, and everyone seemed very happy with the job I'd done of it. We got to hit up a bunch of wonderful knitting stores, and I got a GORGEOUS skein of lace-weight yarn, and picked a pattern for it, to boot!
Unfortunately, it reminded me that I'd promised my pseudo-cousin some baby things. She's at five months, now. I'm horribly jealous, even though I don't want to be. It's her second child, and she's a wonderful mother. Her son is a joy to be around. The thought of making something for someone else's baby is hard to bear, though. Two of my good friends offered to do the hard work if I supplied the yarn and pattern, and as much as I hate to pass my work on someone else, I might take them up on it.
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