For the past two years now, my sewing machine and I have occasionally looked longingly at one another. Sometimes we write letters, but the hard truth remains that while there is a crazy toddler in the house, there will be no sewing. When Clothilde was small and immobile, I managed to sew three baby bloomers for her, and before she was very fast or steady I desperately found time to squeeze in two pairs for friends with babies. They only have six short seams, so that gives you the idea of how much sewing time I’ve had. Just last night my dad was remarking how he’s never seen a kid move as much as Clothilde. Yeah, tell me about it.
It’s been about three and a half years since I’ve bought or sewn any clothes for myself (not counting underwear!) and almost everything I own now has unrepairable holes in it and I just have to go around looking like a homeless woman. I really need some new clothes. Knowing what I do about the clothing industry, I just can’t bring myself to purchase them. Meanwhile, I have a huge accumulated fabric stash, needles, thread, and a pattern I really like. With most of this year’s knitting projects out of the way, I thought I would try hand-sewing. It’s something I can do while I chase Clothilde around the yard, slapping mosquitoes and pulling her out of the road and off of too-high tree branches.
For someone accustomed to technology, it has been frustrating. A seam that would have taken seconds on my machine is dragged out to half an hour, and even then it is a little wonky. But I’m sure I will get better at it, and hey, it’s not like I would be able to use that time for machine-sewing anyway.