Yesterday evening, a funny thing happened. The baby monitor went quiet. Not the bad kind of quiet, and we have one of those sensor mats so a light flashes every time the little one breathes (oh yes, I’m one of those neurotic kinds of mums), but the kind of quiet which means that it’s 8pm, and my baby girl is actually ASLEEP.
Then something even stranger happened. My crochet hook found its way back into my hand.
The thing that I didn’t realise about life with a newborn is how intense it is. How all-consuming the hapless routine I now find myself in. I consider the day relatively ordered if I find the time to pee more than once. And here I was, cotton in one hand, hook in the other, about to partake in some me-time.
Before I knew it, I’d crocheted a whole granny square. Then promptly decided that I think I’d prefer the yarn (Rico Essentials Cotton) knitted. Of course, a timely squeal from the baby monitor stopped the fetching of knitting needles in its tracks, but it was a start. A tentative toe back into the craft sea. An hour or so a night (so long as it’s not a bad night) of it just being me again.
We’re back in business, folks.