Unintended consequences

I started knitting about 4 years ago. I've knit hats, fingerless mitts, washcloths, socks, and even blankets. But so far my favorite thing to knit is sweaters. I've lost track of how many I've knit for myself, but it seems ever season I have a new favorite.

This sweater was destined to be an all-time favorite. I love the pattern - shawl collar to keep my neck warm, just enough cable knitting to be an interesting knit AND interesting to look at. The yarn - Madelinetosh Tosh Merino in the Thunderstorm colorway - is gorgeous. Don't you think the pattern and yarn were meant to be together?

There was just one problem. I began knitting this sweater in February, about 6 weeks before I went Primal. Back when I weighed 175 or 180 pounds. I'm down at 150 now. And I knew the sweater was maybe a little too big, but I was wearing it anyway. I blamed the ill fit of the collar and the way it slipped off my shoulders on a too-tight collar bind-off.

That is, until I got back these photos from the amazing photographer Amy Wilbanks. She took them for me during a family photo shoot, specifically so I could have decent photos for my Ravelry project page.  Looking at the photos, I was nothing but dismayed and disappointed. The photos themselves are beautiful, but the sweater? Oh, goodness. So much too big. It's heartbreaking.

It seems there is no choice but to rip this sweater back to the beginning and start over in a smaller size. If it was a less loved pattern, or a less expensive yarn, I might just give it to a friend who's the right size. But I am in love with both pattern and yarn, so a re-knit it will be.

I think I just might wait a while, though. Not too long. Just until I've reached my desired body composition. Just in time for next winter, I hope.

A needed boost

I had a week or two of not feeling good, mentally. I wasn't taking my own advice, and was getting bummed that the scale wasn't budging. I took some measurements, and those weren't budging either. Except for my thigh - that was bigger! Seriously, seriously bummed.

And to just to make myself feel worse, I had a lot of self-talk regarding the "cheats" I'd been making. My mother-in-law came for a visit, we went out of town...my food choices weren't entirely my own. And even when they were, I made some "bad choices" - I really didn't need to eat 4 spoons of my son's ice cream. And I knew it.

Let the self-hate commence. I was getting ready for a good old-fashioned wallow, a self-induced depression that might "make it OK" to indulge a bit more. I feel like crap, chocolate will make me feel better! I've already had some ice cream; why not add fast food french fries to the mix?

(I really  need to write that post on self-talk I've been mulling over.)

But I took a step back and realized my problem was really one of perspective. I'd forgotten how far I'd come, and how much I'd changed. The best way I knew to demonstrate that to myself - and get some love from others, I admit - was to take photos and put together a before-and-after collage.

So here, in all my glory, is me in my underwear. I'd already lost ~7 pounds by the time that first set of photos was taken. I was too impatient to start this way of eating to wait for someone to take pictures of me! As you can see, I still have a ways to go before I look like the gals you see on the CrossFit videos. But, oh baby! Look how far I've come!

The Unwritten Path

Wife, mother, friend, writer, knitter, gardener. These are all ways I describe myself, ways that other people might describe me. And they are true, of course they are. But there are so many variations of that truth, so many adjectives that can be used to modify and describe those nouns.

The one adjective that has fit most precisely in front of all of those nouns recently is unhappy. Wait, let me edit that - discontented.

For a while now, I've felt my unhappiness discontent physically, or to be more accurate I've been unhappy discontented with my physicality. I was sluggish, tired, stiff, achy, slow, and soft. I couldn't keep up with my son or my husband. Last summer, I was pregnant; it was a great excuse to not keep up with an active three-year-old boy, to laze on the couch while he played trains, to rest in the shade while he rode his bike. "Mommy can't." became my most often uttered phrase.

Then I had an unwanted but medically necessary c-section. I was "in recovery." I was sleep deprived. I was often hampered by the infant in my arms, or strapped to my chest. I loved when she fell asleep in my lap not just for the sheer joy of holding a sleeping baby, but because it meant I didn't have to do anything but sit and rock.

These were also great excuses to not turn any of my self-designated labels into verbs. I've described myself as a writer and editor for over a decade, but it has been at least three years since I've written or edited for any reason other than fun. (Yes, fun!) This is yet another year I've failed to mulch or weed my garden. Our household budget is a disaster. My stash of planned and unstarted knitting projects fills two Rubbermaid bins, which are now in the attic because they've languished so long.

But now my post-partum fog has lifted. The person I see is not the person I want to be. Wife, mother, friend, writer, knitter, gardener...those are hard and fast nouns that will always define me. But the adjectives I see now - lazy, fat, tired, slow, neglectful, angry, impatient - are ones I'd like to see left behind.

The path ahead is still unwritten, and it is up to me to choose the words.