Knitting Yarns by Ann Hood

Author:Ann Hood
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: W. W. Norton & Company
Published: 2013-04-27T16:00:00+00:00

knitting a family

by Anne D. LeClaire

A husband and wife form a couple; it takes the addition of a child to create a family. As the author waits for that baby to create her family, she turns to knitting.

ALL THE OTHER WOMEN IN THE OUTER OFFICE OF THE OB/GYN were expecting.

In various stages of pregnancy, they would chat among themselves, comparing experiences of morning sickness, backaches, swollen legs, varicose veins, baby names, and due dates. A number of them also knit while waiting to be called into examining rooms. They didn’t look at their hands while they worked and I was amazed at the effortless way their knuckles looped yarn over and under slender-gauge needles as they created booties and carriage afghans and tiny sweaters in shades of pastel greens and pinks and blues and yellow. So many of them were busy with needlework that I joked with my husband that there must be a Knitting Hormone that is released when a woman becomes pregnant.

My own hands, like my womb, were empty; I was not expecting. I was waiting. For several years we had been trying to conceive and more often than you might imagine we were asked when we were going to start a family. As time passed, some people even hinted that perhaps we didn’t want to have children. We did. I did. I was drawn to children of all ages. Babies. Toddlers. Teenagers. I couldn’t imagine a life without them. A husband and wife form a couple; it takes the addition of a child to create a family. I wanted a family and I yearned for a baby with a passion that was near hunger. My husband Hillary, too, shared this dream. Even before we were married, we had talked about a future that included children, a future I took for granted as easily as I did the morning sun. But, as with love or good health or any of the presumptive rights and privileges we too often take for granted, when I was visited by its loss, I was stunned and disbelieving.

I listened to the well-meaning advice of close friends. Relax, they counseled. Pray. Drink tea instead of coffee. Take vitamins. Try herbs. Have more sex. Have less. Eventually, we turned to fertility testing. Looking back, I see how completely unprepared we were, how naïve we were about the complicated and lengthy process on which we were embarking, one that would prove to be emotionally draining and, at times, physically painful. One aspect I would come to find particularly hurtful was sitting in the outer office of the OB/GYN with the pregnant, knitting women. Soon I learned to carry a book with me to occupy my hands and mind, an escape place for my eyes to focus on while I waited.

On my second appointment I carried in a small chart on which, as directed and for the duration of two months, I had recorded my temperature, taken every morning without fail before I rose or ate. When

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