What a difference a year makes

This time last year I had flash of crafty inspiration and decided to make T a personalised Christmas stocking. Well, it was either inspiration or guilt at having given him an unusual name. There'll be no personalised pencils for him, he wont even be able to buy one of those little enamel brooches they sell at the zoo in the shape of an elephant, but who cares, because he has a red felt sack with Mummy's special applique on it!

As referenced here, my skills (again) didn't quite match my enthusiasm though, so the two stocking shapes are stuck together with iron on hemming, although the letters (made with a felted jumper) are stitched on by hand, as are the holly leaves. The berries are small red buttons. I love buttons.

Anyway, as Christmas drew ever closer last year and my husband came home from work to 'I've finished the T and half of the O' or 'I'm almost ready to start the I!', I managed the (not insubstantial) feat of breastfeeding and sewing at the same time. This is much more difficult than other 'whilst breastfeeding' tasks, my favourite of which was eating, because it does matter if you drop the bits into your small son's ear in the process. Pizza crumbs not too bad, sharp needle, very bad.

Major accidents averted, the stocking was finished on Christmas Eve, and, in the hunt for obligatorily humiliating photos to show his future girlfriends, we stuck him in it to take a picture. Of course it was only fitting then to try the same yesterday when the stocking was retrieved from the Christmas decorations suitcase, a little scrumpled but still very much intact and ready for its second outing. This is when I am glad of a teeny boy, as he just about squeezed in. Next year I imagine he'll run around, wearing it as a hat.

What a difference a year makes, eh?

I'm feeling very Christmassy today.