I'm stealing a quick moment away at the computer ("making letters!") while the baby boy bird sleeps. It's a momentary break from near-constant adhesion. I literally have him STUCK to my right arm all day long (and in this weather, stuck is the word, though we have heaved the air conditioners into 2 of their 3 windows--kids room and living room--and I am currently blissfully cool).
I don't think that I've mentioned that, instead of a blankie or bear or tattered scrap of something or other, my dear son's attachment object is me. No, I don't mean that he's attached to me (he is, but kids with blankies are attached to their parents too). I mean that his source of comfort when he's feeling anxious, tired, or sore, is my arm. Specifically, my arm hair. He twiddles and plucks it. Mostly gently. Sometimes he needs a reminder about the gentle part. He calls it "armie." Seriously. Weird. Can't imagine where he gets that.
Thankfully (and of course, this is the important part), I have figured out how to spin while he is nestled in my armpit fiddling with my arm hair. I draft wtih that hand, and it all seems to work out. This has been a good thing over the last three days.
The recovery has been much better than I expected, but it has not been entirely easy either. (And here is the point where he wakes up and, well, nestles in my armpit to fall asleep again.) Today has been rougher for him than the prior two days (they warned us of this), plus, at the moments when he's feeling better, he's not coping well with the restrictions on his activity. We confirmed with the doctor and yes, we really do have to keep him quiet; I guess he's even more at risk of bleeding now than he was just after the surgery. He has also decided to be completely opposed to taking any kind of medicine (though he still wants my sandwich, so it's not that he doesn't want to eat or drink anything). So it has been a wrestling match to keep the painkillers in him, but our brief attempt at letting him decide did not work out well, so the struggle is necessary.
So things are going well but slowly chez mama. All this sitting on my ass has some benefit, however. I mentioned I've been spinning. I turned this icelandic lamb fleece from Cummington
Which, when plied, will hopefully look as much like this as possible:
Which would be really good, because I have become completely obsessed with making this. And believe it or not, I think I have all the ingredients I need to do so, though knowing one single freakin' word of icelandic might actually help. The good news: I will know a fair number of words in icelandic by the time I'm done; mostly about knitting. If I ever travel to rural Iceland, we can talk wool. Won't be much different from my travels to other places.
I left the pattern for the diamond shawl at the hospital ("what? he's awake? GET ME IN THERE!"), so I'm waiting to get that back (I could do all of it from looking/memory except for the edges of the diamond pattern, which always look WRONG until you're about 10 rows away, so I don't want to try it chartless). I also hear that the rest of the yarn for my Fleece Artist/Hand Maiden FBS is on its way here. So I'm going to have a lot of lace in my future, in, if I do say so myself, some pretty nice yarn. Once again feeling like a sheep and wondering why this seems like a bad thing, I understand this is the Summer of Lace. Works for me.
So while my sweet boy sleeps, I'll spin my little heart out, dreaming of Icelandic lace. Sweet dreams to you too...