I have discovered a new love. Shirring.
In a fit of artiness I spent yesterday making the snortlepig a summer dress… and by “spent yesterday” I do mean the entire day. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t meant to take that long, but then, I adjusted the pattern. I did a sort of patchworky thing with three different green fabrics I had instead of just using the one fabric - fun, but it involved carving up the pattern with scissors, which felt v nerve-wracking and transgressive. And I had to make my own bias binding, and continuously-bind the hem of the skirt. Ooh, and I flat-felled the side seams, just to show I could.
The point is, it was time-consuming and fiddly. But when night fell and I realised that amazingly, I didn’t feel burned out, I decided to start on a simpler project - a shirred strappy top. So I looked up this shirring tute to refresh my memory and felt inspired, and then read the several dozen comments saying “Help, this doesn’t work” and felt uninspired again. But it does work! Just like that! I practically finished the top in ten minutes flat, and would have if the snortlepig hadn’t woken up. And now I’m trying to think up ways to incorporate shirring into every other outfit she’ll ever wear. Any ideas?
Last night we went to visit the nephewpig. He is cute in a not-very-good-looking-but-will-doubtless-improve-with-a-steady-diet-and-clean-living kind of way. Lots of hair, big ears, and was missing his left hand, although I was assured it was chillin’ in his onesie somewhere. Sister-in-law had the labour from hell, poor thing - Syntocinon, epidural, continuous foetal monitoring so had to lie on the bed the whole time, threatened C-section due to tachycardia, and had to be put under general anaesthetic afterwards for stitches. She seems remarkably OK with it all though - not effusive by any means, but not curled up gibbering in the corner either.
The snortlepig, to our surprise, behaved in an impeccably cousinly way. Not only was she not jealous when I held the baby for half an hour, but she gave him hugs and kisses (v rare for her at the best of times) and tried very gently to remove a bit of skunge from his eye. She even learned a new word - “baby”. Yes, it is still nameless, although I heard the two alternatives and let’s just say, nobody’s gonna be scratching his head wondering what religion the kidling’s parents are.
So, question: Do you feel the mother has the right to choose the baby’s name, within reason? Do you feel her right to do so increases proportionately to the unpleasantness of the labour?
Also, do you feel virtuous when you eat fish? We had fish last night and I felt virtuous. Virtuous, and full of fish.