Last summer brought a little one into our lives; my husband’s thirty-four, I’m thirty-three, yet now we’re parents.
My husband’s aunt gave us a wonderfully thick knitted blanket. Seriously soft, I keep saying how comfortable it feels; honestly, I want one just as big for myself! I tease our little one because they get to enjoy it while I simply admire it.
Saturday, he just…vanished. Wouldn’t say a word about his plans, yet somehow a bag appeared – one bearing the logo of Old Man Hemlock’s crafts shop. The night we talked, he asked for space – an hour each evening once our boy was asleep, a quiet pocket where he wouldn’t be bothered unless it mattered. Considering how little free time either of us had now that we were raising a child, I said yes right away.
Last night, while enjoying some quiet time, we noticed our son shift around. A peek at the monitor revealed he simply needed to readjust without his paci. However, the camera also caught something else: my spouse, cross-legged on the floor amidst a heap of thick yarn, absorbed in a finger knitting tutorial.
Suddenly I realized – the kindly gentleman was quietly crafting a blanket just for me.
Surprises from him are a given – he can’t hold one! I just know he’ll spill the beans beforehand. Still, when the moment arrives, I'll act completely shocked. Overwhelmed with affection, I adore him. It fills me with joy to see him take up knitting – all so I might possess a throw as soft as the one our child snuggles with.