I haven't been getting much done in the way of knitting the last week or so. About all I've accomplished is tearing projects apart. I wasn't enjoying the look of my Hugs and Kisses socks, so I frogged them. I have a few ideas to rework them and plan to get started again soon. The neutral socks proved too boring... and also went to the frog pond. The hugs and kisses mitts fell off the needle when one of the needles snapped on transport to and from the hospital to visit mom.
A few projects survived the massacre. There is the second half of Angel's Exploded Rib socks that I set aside for a year and just picked back up today. I also have the foot and second sock of the Lacy Spring socks I'm gifting to Ross' mom. I began a miniature version of Exploded Rib socks for one or the other of my nieces. And, finally, the baby blanket for Gretchen's bun in the oven.
As my due date gets closer, that last project has been hard to face. I still stand firm to never wanting kids... and I was only 10 weeks along... but that doesn't mean the loss hasn't hurt some. There have been moments when Ross and I were curled up watching TV or playing with the dog and cats that I would find myself thinking, "How different would this all have been if I hadn't miscarried? Would our relationship be different if we were parents or about to be parents right now?" I mentioned something to Ross about the due date coming up, kind of an out-of-the-blue comment that it was bothering me a bit, and he looked confused and asked what I meant. Funny, the fact that he didn't know or remember pissed me off a little. I wanted to say, "Well, maybe if you'd been in excruciating pain and bled for six weeks, you'd know what I was talking about!" Sometimes I wish I had that trait, one that seems to run heavy in males, that lets them just forget and move on.