Emomsculated

I finished Jooj's blanket today.
Let me preface that with reminding you that I am not a good quilter. What I lack in skill, however, I make up with enthusiasm. And SPEED. The problem, I think, is you have to be precise. I learned on this one (only my second) that you cannot "eyeball" a quilt. You actually have to measure and re-measure. Gravy, I am not good with the measuring.

But I am not too concerned, because I know that this blanket will be a lovie. I do not expect it to make it to her graduation. And, mostly, because she really, really wanted it, and I wanted to bring her some happiness.
************************************************************************************
I have been feeling low, as of late, in respect to my duties and role and destiny. A friend is currently on bed-rest, and has been spending her time chatting with me. Which is nice. I enjoy the chat. But the conversations tend to go like this:

Her: I am pregnant! I have life in my womb!
Me: Hooray for you!
Her: Jooj sure gets all of her _________ from her birth mother!
Me: Well, I am pretty _______, too...
Her: Yeah, but she also gets ______, and ______, and ______.
Me: Jooj is MY daughter, you know.
Her: Of Course She Is. But she has so much in common with her birth mother, too! SO much! They are like twins!
Me: ...
Her: I sure am glad I am filling the measure of my creation!

I exaggerate a bit. And I know that she means no ill. She is just young.

But many days of this sort of conversation takes its toll, you know. And I can't get it out of my head that I was given ONE job as a woman: To multiply and replenish. And I am doing neither, you know. Even with a calculator.
*************************************************************************************

Now, I know the spiel: I am her mother. ME. I am raising her, I am sealed to her, ME. I am her mother.

And yet.

I want so desperately to lay claim to everything that is hers. I want her smile to be MY smile. I want to see my grandfather in her cheeks, or my sister in her elbows. (But not her her teeth. Juju is prone to root canals.) I want to look at her and think "I Made That."

Which brings me back to the beginning of this post.

I can't give her elbows or teeth or cheeks or what-have-you, but I can give her joy. And it made her really, really happy that I was making her something. So happy that she proclaimed "Hooray! Hooray! Hop Hop!"

And I think that I mother a lot like I quilt--I do it kind of half-assed sometimes, and I eye-ball it quite frequently, and you won't find me pulling tons of seams in order to make it perfect for my blog posts or Flickr pool. It generally turns out wonky. But there is speed and enthusiasm. And I do it because it means something to me, and something to her.

And maybe I am not filling the measure of my creation--I have not multiplied, but there are times when I know I have replenished her little soul, replenished her faith, replenished her psyche, replenished her belly. I am doing the best job I can with the materials (or lack of materials) I have been given. And I am doing it for the least of these. So that should matter in the end, right? I think it will.

And I made her a matching one for the dollhouse. Because I know it would make her happy. See? Enthusiasm. And Speed.