I think a zombie has overtaken my body, and all it wants to do is crochet hats.
Before C. was born (he’s a December baby), I had the hardest time finding a cool hat for him, so I ended up putting the only hat I could find on our baby registry. When C. was 8 days old, our best friend and talented photographer S. did a photo shoot of him, and this hat made us double over and squeeze our eyes shut with laughter. Poor kid may get me some day for this one.
So now I keep thinking of friends who are pregnant and will need hats for their babes and I’m crocheting like a madwoman so I have gifts on hand. C. in Alexandria, Va., who has two girls already, could have a boy! C. and J. in Maryland are having their first boy, and wait, so is W. in Chicago.
It’s a bit insane to make so many hats when it’s 80 degrees in the desert and will only get hotter.
A. grinned at me the other night, as I sat on our brown couch under a blanket, crocheting away in the quiet and totally zen.
“You’re going to be the best grannie,” he said.
“Get away,” I said. “You taught me, so you can’t make fun.”
But he’s right: I’m out of control. So much so, that I haven’t been reading or writing or doing much of anything else. Our joke is, “One more row.”
The zombie is getting better with time (among the first, top right, looks like a football helmet from the 1920s). But I have to exorcise it for now and put down my hook and tend to other matters that tug at the heart.