In the fall of 1968, when you were approximately the size of a grape, a knitter named Elizabeth Zimmerman published a pattern called the Surprise Jacket. When I heard that Brice had come to live with you, I knew right away that he needed his Aunt Jamie to make him a Surprise Jacket. (That's what he was saying that one time he wouldn't settle down: "Where is my jacket? How long does a guy have to wait around here?")
The thing about a Baby Surprise Jacket is that it looks more like an Amoeba or perhaps a Series of Drunken Errors than a jacket. The pattern warns the knitter: it will look "v. odd, indeed, but trust me, and press on." I have wondered if this might explain part of the BSJ's popularity. On the website where I keep my online knitting notebook, there are currently 22,499 BSJ's logged. That's a lot of amoebas, is it not? I think it's one of those knitting-is-like-life things: sometimes the idea that an intractable baby or toddler will actually grow into a person who is capable of shaving and voting and operating a motor vehicle seems at least as implausible as the idea that an amoeba could become a cute little retro garment. But both those things are true. If ever you are having a bleak day, I suggest that you trust and press on.
When we lived on Simpson Street, on any given day you'd be wearing black and I'd be wearing green. I striped this jacket in black and green on purpose, thinking the black would make it easier for you to dress in clothes that matched the baby (come on, you know you want to!). But there's a bit of metaphor there too: it's mostly black, because the work of raising this baby will fall mostly on your shoulders. But the smaller stripes of green are there because I hope also that you feel enfolded in love and support from people all around you, some of them nearby and hands-on helpful, others sending love and good wishes from far away.
Knitting and parenting are both tasks that call for patience and willingness to take the long view; they also call for determination to keep on learning and to accept one's shortcomings. When I finished the fun part of the jacket, I got stalled on the finishing. While I was finally wrapping it up I figured out a new and better way to tackle a technique I'd been using for years. One last thought on knitting as parenting metaphor: you never know when your task will teach you something unexpected. You never know when something frustrating will turn into something deeply satisfying. I am wishing you a lifetime of deep satisfaction, and fruitful frustration, and learning together.
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