(Or: Birth of a Selfish Knitter)

I really feel like I never want to crochet again.

Surely this feeling will go away. I mean, it has to – I have obligations. But they’re things I want to make, not things I feel like I’ve been guilted into making. Key difference.

In the interest of privacy, all I can say is that there’s a miscarriage involved. I don’t know the mom, but a friend-of-a-friend who does, suggested that it’d be nice for there to be a handmade blanket for when the inevitable happens. So friend brought this up with me. And I said yes.

I suppose I don’t have a right to feel too pissed off, because I brought it on myself. I did agree to do it. But I feel like I wasn’t really given a choice. How do you say no in a situation like that? I don’t know if it was counted on or just a convenient coincidence for them, but it’s very hard to say no in that kind of situation. Additionally, I thought I could get it done much faster than I actually did. And in a situation like this, time is of the essence.

So I guess I have no one to blame but myself for overestimating my own capabilities. But the thing is, I shouldn’t have been asked in the first place.

I spent a few hours working on it Friday. When I got up Saturday, I spent 16 solid hours crocheting, stopping only to eat dinner and take a couple of bathroom breaks. My wonderful husband did what he could to help by keeping me hydrated and making dinner, and unfortunately, I was just awful. I apologized, and admitted that it was because he was the closest (and only appropriate) target for my increasing frustration, but knowing you’re doing wrong is not an acceptable substitute for just not doing it.

Everyone involved was grateful to me; being appreciated is not the issue. Unfortunately, because I was rushed, it didn’t turn out as well as I had hoped, and because I ran out of yarn and time, it’s more rectangular than I’d have liked. I know that doesn’t really matter (at least I hope it doesn’t because if I hear one word of criticism over the quality, I will seriously flip my lid), but I really resent that someone used the mother of all guilt trips to put me on the spot like that.

I also really hate that I’m even this upset about it. It seems crass and selfish – but that’s why I was guilted into it in the first place. Even if you don’t even know the baby or the family, you seem like a real jerk if you are anything but solemn and reverent in this situation. But if you can’t complain about this sort of thing on the internet, where can you? It’s not like I’m going to go up to the mother and say anything. It wasn’t her idea, and I’m never going to meet her anyway.

I do know this: I’m never crocheting around this friend again. If she asks why, I’ll say I need to catch up on my reading list. Which is actually true.

I’ll still work on my knitting… in the privacy of my own home. But when it comes to being a hooker… throw me in a dumpster.

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