Four years ago, my husband and I took 3 1/2 months and traveled out west, camping in a tent for 100 nights straight. I did a lot of journaling and mindfully, working my way through Christiane Northrup’s “Women’s Bodies, Women’s Wisdom”. Mostly though we hiked, explored small towns, surfed and rode bikes; we also backpacked for 7 days in the North Cascade Mountains and canoed for 11 days on the Green River.
It was something we had both dreamed of for many years and was a sort of big hurrah before trying to have a baby. We came home with just that, a pregnancy. I’m a maker. So I immediately ordered this sweet organic jersey fabric, blue with deer on it, to make our wee one something. Days before telling our family the news, we miscarried at 11 weeks…for the second time that year. It was heavy and sad and shortly after, my fabric arrived in the mail.
We tried again and it wasn’t long before Ellis arrived.
This past weekend, I finally unearthed that fabric and decided it was time to make something out of it for this wee boy. It brought up all kinds of sweetness and sorrow in me. Curiously, he loves his pee-jammies (as he calls them) which I made from Meg of Sew Liberated’s book “Growing Up Sew Liberated”. I mean like, has worn them for four days straight- loves them. I’ve made him other clothes…but he’s bonded to this one. Perhaps it’s his age, 2 1/2, or perhaps he can sense the deep, deep emotion imbued in this fabric. Either way, it’s a balm to my heart.
Miscarriages aren’t something I heard much about before trying to get pregnant at 36. Turns out they’re common. I wish more people talked about that. I wish ours was a culture that healed out loud rather than secretly, tucked in ourselves. I’m grateful for the mindful, self-care that I get from making with my own two hands. I’m grateful for the peace that comes when I’m in the “flow” and my ability to create something of meaning.