I'd like to write that I somehow magically finished that outfit in time for tomorrow's baby shower, but I can't. I can't even say that I've finished the other sweater, but it looks like I still have a prayer of doing that. I don't know if it'll be blocked--but I think it can be done. I can say that the house is mostly clean and most of the laundry is done. I did most of the paying work I had to do this week, but I sure will have a lot to do next week. Sheesh. At least the tomatoes that are in the cold frame are thriving and my radishes are already up. The tomatoes on the back porch (covered at night only with a milk carton)--one dead, one barely hanging on, one oblivious to the cold. Yeah, weird.
I rented a couch. I had to rent a couch because I'm having four people visit next week who cannot sit on folding chairs all day. We don't own a couch. We don't really own that many folding chairs, although we probably own more than people who own couches do. So I rented a couch. That was a funny experience, although not one I care to relive. Suffice to say that the best bluff's aren't bluffs. I was leaving and off to try to beg, borrow, or steal a couch from a neighbor when they changed their tune about what they could or couldn't do for me. (The problem was that I refused to fill out what was basically a credit application to get a couch for one week.) Nevertheless, I'll be glad when they take their rent-a-couch home again. I don't like doing business with them. In the meantime, I have a place for everyone to sit.
I'm very excited about everyone coming to visit and seeing Jason and Karen at their shower. I really hope everyone has a good time--and for that reason, the anxious introvert in me is very worried. Worried I forgot to get someone something they need. Worried I didn't get Baby Oliver enough. Worried I'll bring the wrong knitting project or get to Harrisburg and realize I brought the right knitting project and only one needle. Worried all the kids and Chris will get sick the moment I leave.
I'll feel better after Connie helps me put the diaper cake together. Who knew I could be such a basket case over a disposable diaper sculpture. And while we're on that subject--oh my heck, HOW do people afford to disposable diaper their twins anymore? $17 for 80 little diapers? No, no--let me put this in perspective for you. When Ben and Milo were in size 1 diapers, they went through 25 diapers a day. It would cost us about $150 a month to diaper the little twerps! The next time you hear that a couple is having twins and want to get them a little something, get them disposable diapers!!!!
We switched to cloth, but not till 8 weeks. For the first 8 weeks of twin-dom you don't want to have to stay on top of that much laundry.
My brother and sister-in-law are not having twins, and they are very clever people with very nice jobs, so the diaper issue shouldn't be a problem, but jeez louise.
I couldn't decide what size diapers to get for the diaper cake. None of them were the perfectly white diapers I was looking for. All the diapers "today" have colors are over them. But the diaper cake is supposed to be a decoration at the party--and then break down into totally practical pieces that the mother-and-father-to-be can use for their baby. So you know, I picked the decorations very carefully. A good pacifier set, that sort of thing. But in the diaper isle I was stumped. If I got size six to maximize the height of the diaper cake--well the kid wouldn't wear them till he was practically potty trained. My sister-in-law is petite and unlikely to produce the kinds of freaks of nature that Chris and I make (20 lbs at 4 months). So I waited until a mother with a normal size baby walked by and asked her what size diaper HER baby was wearing. The sixth month old baby was wearing size TWO. So that's what I bought.
Do you see what a total head case I am over this? It's a diaper cake. Noone will care. Connie will make it look beautiful. I got the right kind of pacifier. That's all that counts. I'll bring my knitting to the shower. That will keep me from bursting out with inappropriate comments like, "I got you nursing pads, too--but I didn't think you'd want those in the cake!" or something equally neurotic.
I gotta go knit a sleeve.