Auditioning for Rockefeller Center
Originally uploaded by teamkaty
Generally speaking, I'm pretty casual about my birthday. Oh, I like a party--don't ask my mother about how many summer hours I spent picking out paper napkins when I was nine*--but nowadays I'm equally happy to let the day slip by largely unheralded. And I can't really get agitated about "another year older." Eh, so I'm 36, officially on the short slide to 40. C'est la vie. But there have been exceptions to this blithe birthday spirit--namely 32, 33, and 34. Because those birthdays were "I'm getting older and I can't get pregnant." Time, of course, is the evil compounder in the infertility experience--the longer things take, the more fucked you are. When I turned 35 last year I was two months pregnant, with "Advanced Maternal Age" on my charts, and just starting to allow myself a little optimism. And now I'm 36, and I can't really expound on the sea change that's happened around here, because the agent of all this change is starting to get fractious. I'll just say that this is my best birthday yet, and leave it at that.
But this blog is supposed to be about knitting, yes? We're heading to the beach for a few days and I need to cobble a project together pronto--car trips are the only hands-free time I have nowadays. Question: would I be absolutely insane to frog 4 feet of Brooks Farm Primero?
Oh, I know the answer to this...
*Final selection: dusty rose and plum. Tres chic.