Thumthing wicked this way comes…
It’s sitting there, tucked snugly inside the current mitten, mocking me. The thumb.
Really, after mastering all this lovely patterned color-work, I should hardly be afraid of a thumb. It’s what separates us from lower life forms, right? Opposable thumbs? The physiological distinction that enables me to hold my knitting needles while other adorable yet less evolved species like my dog must content themselves with scratching? Of course I should be able to craft a suitable housing for my beloved thumb.
Yet, I have to wonder. Why do they leave it to last? Is it so difficult that we’d bail on the project if we tried it mid-stream? The same reason why I believe God gives us the easy child first so that we’re duped into thinking we can handle more and then POW…the “challenging child” comes along? (I was that second challenging child, by the way, so I’ve earned the right to say that…).
I do have a few mittens where the thumbs came out dorky. Too fat, too long specimens, inelegant reminders that small details make a big difference. Still, I’m astounded how this element makes me fret. It’s probably no mistake that I marked its location with red yarn. A cautionary color.
All else is going well, however, so I will try to persist in optimism. I will cary on.