when 3 + 1 = an awfully big adventure

It's ridiculously satisfying when things just add up. When the loose change in your pocket happens to add up to your bus fare. When the flour in the jar happens to be precisely the weight that you need. When your movie ends exactly as they switch off your in-flight entertainment (even though there's still 40 minutes 'til landing time - gah).

Whenever I make one of these (below), there always seems to be 90-100g of sock yarn left over. Exactly the amount required for a little tiny baby sweater.

amazing Veera Valimaki shawls, two Different Lines and one Stripe Study

I finished the lurid purple and pink shawl last winter and it's sat in my knitting bag ever since, the right recipient never seemed to appear. But on hearing about the birth of a beautiful baby called Rose, daughter to my husband's oldest childhood friend, suddenly everything added up. A little blast of hot colour for both Rose and her fabulous new Mum, to shake up the all-too-familiar avalanche of pastel pink. A perfect puerperium solution for that 100g of leftover Wollmeise.

need to choose some buttons...

My latest Veera shawl (oops no finished picture) was grey and turquoise, and was gifted last month, so while its matching sweater (below) won't become part of a set, the weight of leftover yarn added up to exactly 100g and so another tiny puerperium it will be. And here's the big news: this one (gender dependent) may very well end up staying at home...

Yup, I've donned the dreaded elasticated waistbands and I'm going to have to change my strapline up at the top there in my header (suggestions on a postcard please).

Maybe this helps explain a few things.

• making a great big bloody mountain out of a molehill re moving in March
  debilitating fatigue + organising an international move between six and 12 weeks = complete loss of perspective.
• blogposts filled with doubt and nostalgia
  excessive hormones + uprooting of family from beautiful paradise island = severe navel gazing... mercifully something I won't be able to physically achieve for much longer.
• spending the past month being completely wiped out with vile lurgys
  a whole new raft of unfamiliar British Spring viruses + not being allowed to take decongestants or decent headache pills = chronic self-pity.
• more than usual inability to tolerate chaos
  container arrival + building work + frequently absent husband + inability to lift anything = a house that looks like it's been ransacked. Sadly the schedule on the building work is already slipping well past its delivery date, so things can only get worse before they get better. I need to learn how to breathe deeply.

I'll try not to grumble too much about it over the next few months. But I warn you that I'll fail. You should know that I'm no glowing picture of abundant blooming womanhood. For me, pregnancy, with its essential indigestion, hip pain and stretchmarks, is something that I'm prepared to bungle through if that's what it takes to get to the rewarding bit. A means to an end, rather like the builders and our kitchen renovation. A kitchen in which I look forward to one day enjoying cold beers, goats' cheese, warm pate, and half-boiled eggs with soy sauce. Not that I'm grudging every mouthful you take...