Gnitter

18 Aug 2024

I am currently working on my eighth infant garment. As I sit here curating this piece, I feel a sense of honor and great responsibility. Some of the first fibers to grace this new baby are being woven by me in my home. The first garment to caress the skin of this fresh baby, so soon after she arrives from the softest place on Earth, is a piece by me, specifically for her, and coming from the same place. This eighth time being granted with this task has me treasuring even more the space, material, and trust surrounding these gifts + what has been entrusted in me.

I remember the first baby garment I ever made — a spring jumper for a baby girl. I had been practicing knitting and finally felt sharp enough to create a garment. I was working with a ‘new to me’ fiber comprising of thin, fuzzy, camel-colored wool; it sea/med perfect for a baby. I sat on the couch at my dad’s house and began making a gauge, while he sat alongside me watching “The Family Business” for the second time — he and my younger sister were alike in the fact that they were always down to watch something twice so they could experience your first reactions with you. I took down the measurements of my gauge piece and started the project. I reached the middle of the front panel work before realizing it was HUGE compared to the size of an infant. This meant that there were some discrepancies within the scaling, so I started over. I did that a couple of times. I came to realize precision was much more necessary with knitware than crochetware, which was new for me. It made me much more sharp and mindful of my crochet scaling, though, which I appreciated. I did begin to overthink every minute detail of the piece following my beginner’s mistake. I wondered if the measurements I’d found online were accurate, if the piece would have enough space for a diaper to fit, how long were baby legs unscrunched + were the leg proportions I knitting sized accordingly, and so on. At this point, questioning more than flowing, and drifting away from a final product because of all the stop and goes.

Once I completed the first panel, all the extra thinking I’d been doing in between time felt so unnecessary. I drenched the piece, laid it flat on marble, and stood over it, staring in admiration. It was so perfect, all previous doubts about it dissolved from my mind, as they didn’t belong in the first place. Aside from the realization of the beauty, I realized and acknowledged the irresponsibility attached to filling the atmosphere surrounding a baby gift with worry. Frankly, it was abuse. It’s abusive to welcome a baby into the world and cover her with fibers of fear and doubt. It was abusive and self-destructive to interrupt the channels with fear and doubt as I sit in that space and exercise this sacred gift. From that moment, I knew what I needed to do + how I needed to move and carry moving forward, and I would readily accept any punishment resulting in my ever going against it. This birthed something new for me… every piece since, whether it be for an adult, child, or baby, is a piece I let turn into whatever it wants as I stitch. And so my signature was born. I spoke well wishes over the piece upon completion — I hadn’t yet become re-familiarized with my praying voice at this age to call it a prayer, although wishing was the catalyst to my rediscovering praying power — and packaged her up. And that was the first baby garment.

Reflecting back on my first baby gift amazes me. I sit here now and remember when I asked my Mema how and why she began crocheting. She started off making blankets for the NICU babies at the hospital she worked. It’s truly intriguing, that gap right there. The maturity I’ve reached within my designation, the trust I’ve placed in my hands, the discipline I’ve gained as far as regulating the space I hold, and the familiarity I have with material + scaling has made way for my continuing to honor these new souls via stitching + weaving for them. As I work on my eighth welcoming gift, I pray my hands work like this until the last day. So grateful for new life.

shayla