it's a...

There are some people who can patiently wait until their baby is born to find out whether it's a boy or a girl. They enjoy the surprise, even. I've heard that it gives them motivation to get through labor, as though you need a motivator besides the small person who is, regardless, tunneling out of your womb. This, to me, is like finding a reason to keep peeing once you start. 

I am not one of those people. I want to be, sort of, and I even entertained the idea of forcing myself to be one of those people for the four or five months of pregnancy during which knowing the baby's sex is even possible. It seemed fun to announce to everyone that a little boy or a little girl had arrived -- a small bonus to the anticipated name and stats, as neither are we people who name a child prior to meeting him or her. There's also the matter of pre-defining someone's gender, which is a little bit fucked up, and the very real potential for having a baby of the opposite sex than is predicted through ultrasound, or an intersexed baby (of which the prevalence is somewhere between 1.7% and .018% depending on the conditions included). 

But. I am incapable of being that patient, enlightened person. Instead, I was itching to find out and get started sewing a few things (for a boy; for a girl, let's be frank: an entire wardrobe). What was I going to do? Make all this stuff and not show you? Please.

So, we found out a couple of weeks ago. I sent text messages to the most fervently enquiring minds while (I kid you not) using the restroom at the ultrasound place, midway through the procedure. That's how hilarious a proposition it was to keep the sex a secret. I couldn't even get out the door. 

So, here are a few things I've made in the past couple of days, using these tutorials, scaled down slightly so as to be worn sooner (have I mentioned that patience is not one of my virtues?). 

The fabrics are, top to bottom, Alexander Henry Farmdale Orchard and a kind of robin's egg blue cotton lawn; two prints from Lizzy House Castle Peeps (reeling in my psychosis about making matching outfits, I saved the scraps to put at the hem of some otherwise solid-colored pants for George); and two patterns from Anna Maria Horner's Little Folks voile, which I could swathe myself in 24/7. These tutorials were so easy to follow that I whipped the three dresses up in just one night, plus an hour for finishing. I asked George if he liked them, and he said, "Piddy!" Which either means they're pretty or he pities the next in line to wear the clothes I've made. Based on his jacket review, I'm guessing it's the latter. 

thrifty sunday: monday

Everyone knows that the Sunday preceding Labor Day is actually a bonus Saturday, and Labor Day is the official Sunday. Right? Then, we all just collectively agree to skip Monday which nobody likes anyway and move right on to Tuesday: homely but pleasant-enough. GREAT. In that case, I am not late in posting these recent thrift store scores. 

LEGWARMERS! $1.99 and so, so long and toasty. Am I a fool for purchasing leg warmers when it's in the 70s and the weather is finally nice enough to wear tanktops? No, because the Bellingham summer is cruel and will turn on us before we know it, leaving our shins chilly and our spirits (and everything else) dampened. Or, I should say, YOUR shins will be left chilly, because I bought these legwarmers. 

A matching hat! $1.99. All wool and oh, that pom! It's almost as big as my head. Long winter hair begs for a tight little cap with a giant pom pom, and about the time this hat becomes useful I'll need something to compete with my belly for roundness. I'm into anything aprés ski, though in fairness, in the context of my life, it would be...avant ski? Because I don't ski. 

A yard of totally awesome knit fabric! $4.99. I'm not sure why this was so expensive, but they must've known some sucker would come along with visions of torturing her children à la the Von Trapp family or these people (who are lovely, I'm sure, and certainly have adorable kids). Nevermind the cat hair.

A teensy little get-up, $1.99. The embroidered train, the ingenious zipper crotch, the miraculously soft acrylic knit, the matching bonnet-y hat from way back when people didn't think bonnets were too girly and babies still looked like babies and weren't squeezed into size 0-3 month jeans: I love it all. A girl will wear this if we have one, because if she follows the precedent set by her brother, everyone will think she's a boy anyway for the first year of her life. (People: "What's her name?" Me: "George." People: "Girl George?" Me: "Really? That's the most plausible conclusion?")

Also, this weekend, we bought a television. For the living room. I swore I'd never do it, but here we are, living the American dream. It was decidedly un-thrifty, so I'll spare you the price, but now we can have Oscars parties (first: start watching the Oscars. Or any major motion pictures.) and my kid can turn into one of those I previously scoffed at when, at places like the aquarium, they can only liken what they see to Finding Nemo. Happy Labor Day!