Okay, look at this.
Cute, right? With the clouds, and the silver raindrops.
The clouds are made of gray and white card stock, taped and glued to bamboo embroidery hoops. The rain drops are silver card stock, weighted with metal washers and hung on clear beading fishing line.
I made this. I didn’t follow a pattern or whatever, so I wasn’t going off any sort of instructions. I’m guessing there are similar ideas out there. I just bought the materials and had a vague idea how this was all going to come together. I’m sort of a crafty person. I feel pretty comfortable making crafty shit.
But I have to tell you…I honestly hated almost every second of making this thing. The whole time, I was silently cursing myself for getting myself wrapped up in this project. I knew it was going to be tedious, and most of the time, I actually sort of like brainless, time-consuming tasks. Especially now, when I only have half a brain.
This time, however, as I sat and assembled this mobile, I thought about how this is not how a grown woman should spend her goddamned time. Yes, I am nesting. Yes, I’m making a cute thing for my kids. Yes, it was a calm, peaceful activity that kept me stationary while I’m supposed to be on bed rest.
I thought about The Crafting Industry. And it is an Industry. All the stores, all the websites, all the design magazines, all the “craft porn,” the celebrities, the whole culture. It’s a big huge thing. People spend a lot of time and money on this stuff.
It’s pretty. Some of it, anyway. Some of it is god awful, or super fricken tacky. But in general, as human beings, we like pretty things. Not just women. We like useful items. We like design. We like objects that fulfill a purpose.
And we like making stuff, right? It’s soothing to our souls. We like to make pretty things. We like to build. It’s a civilized activity. I would consider myself a crafty person. I make crafty stuff.
But as I sat there, making this pretty thing to decorate our kids’ room, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being so goddamned privileged. And goofy. What an indulgent, silly thing. The only reason I could sit there and spend an inordinate amount of time on this bullshit crafty project is that I happen to have a husband that works full time, and I happen to be a goddamned housewife.
Ah. You see? I’m complaining about crafting, and risking raising the ire of the crafting mafia. But what I’m really struggling with is how useless I feel. I’m not even a “good” housewife right now, because I can’t really maintain the house at all. Dave works, comes home, makes dinner, does dishes, and draws me a cool foot soak for me to dip my swollen toesies in. He yells at me if I try to do stuff around the house. He does all the other little fix-it stuff I would normally do. In all, I am so, so , so lucky to have been impregnated by this man.
Okay? I know, I know, I know, I’m all pregnant and shit. I’m pregnant with twins. We’re close to the end. They could come any time at this point. So I’m not supposed to be doing anything. My job is to gestate. And to be perfectly honest, it sucks. Do you know how hard it is for an anxiety prone, guilt driven, futzy nervous energy person like me to sit still and gestate?
I am much, much better at taking care of things, than being taken care of. Seeing Dave do all this stuff makes me want to reciprocate, it makes me want to do my share. I want to contribute.
Making a pretty mobile just doesn’t seem to cut it for me. So, great, it makes the room sort of sparkly. It will help develop our sons’ valuable looking skills.
The original plan was for me to make two of them, to hang over each crib. But, fuck that. The boys are going to start learning to share early.