One less item in the knitting basket.
A simple project. Quiet nights spent knitting. Pinning and blocking during nap time. A handmade cushion insert for a perfect fit. Mattress ticking fabric and wooden buttons. A child as occupied playing with his barn and tractors, as his mother was with cutting and stitching.
And yet, I keep looking at it, hardly believing that I made it. It's just a cushion. Though it seems to symbolize just how much I've learnt since my crafting journey began in earnest whilst pregnant with Cohen.
Do you ever get that feeling?