Also

Hello, friends!

Thank you for all your email messages and comments to my last post. I think I'm all caught up now with replying to everyone, but I'm going to keep responding to anyone who writes to me or leaves a comment, even if it's weeks and months from now, because I love hearing from you guys so much. 

I get it that sometimes when people are asked for advice, they don't know if it's an earnest request or some flippant sideways compliment, so it's no wonder they sometimes choose to laugh it off in supreme awkwardness. So I appreciate that you guys stepped up to share your stories with me, because this is parenthood, isn't it - standing with other parents to build them up and make it safe to ask for help? Brava, ladies!

More recently, I've been watching another child let go of a part of her childhood.

Kate and I have been in negotiations (for want of a better word) over Bunny for some time now. Bunny is 4 years old and Kate's best non-human friend. Bunny is also the project for which I've received the most requests for a sewing pattern. Whenever I'd broached the idea to Kate however, the answer had always been No There Cannot Be More Than One Bunny In The World. This wasn't selfishness speaking; this was sheer terror of losing something precious to the internet (teenagers would do well to learn this, actually).

At the same time, Kate loved the idea of other children having a bunny they could love at least as much as she does. And while she drew her boundaries (we don't sell our friends, Mom!) she'd often ask  - quietly, and when all the hubbub had died down - if people really liked Bunny and wished they had her, and were there many who said so? 

And so we waited; perhaps there might come a time, I thought, when she'd be ready to share this priceless friendship with the world. And when that time came, we'd be glad we hadn't hurried it. 

This year, she said yes.

(But with conditions!)

Example: the new bunny had to look quite different than Bunny herself. And it couldn't be exactly the same size. 

Very fair, I thought. So we've been making bunnies since - bunnies of all colors and textures and faces. And Kate has loved coming home from school each day to the newest iteration, of which there are many, because of all the tweaking that happened before this final version emerged.

All the photos are taken and I'm starting to write the instructions this week. It's always a toss-up between which stage feels more laborious - the writing, the prototype-drafting, or the photo-documenting of the in-progress construction. I'll just say that I'm glad the earlier parts of the process are over because for too many days there was a gigantic light tent in the sewing room, the floor itself of which was scattered with uncountable piles of furry, shedding fabric, bags of stuffing and spilled poly beads that were a menace underfoot. And the inside of my car is still covered in white fluff from when I was stuffing rabbit limbs while waiting in the pick-up line at the kids's school. 

I'm thinking I might put out a call for alpha testers soon, so look out for a post on that later this month, if it's something you'd like to do for me, okay? Don't decide now, friends - it's just a heads up for the moment; when I have more details on the time frame and the scope of the task, you'll be better able to choose then if it's something you'd be interested in and can commit to.

The seamstress part of me is ecstatic about populating the world with bunnies with whom kids can begin having their own adventures the way Kate and her Bunny have these past four glorious years. But the Mother part of me totally feels the poignancy of this moment - I am glad and sad that we're moving on from that stage in childhood when the world has walls we can see, because we were the ones who'd made them, and painted them in the colors of our imaginations.

Glad and also sad. Holding on and also letting go. Also. That is the refrain of motherhood, isn't it?