(Seen here reclining on my babygate/drying rack)
I, however, hate the sleeves. As it turns out, bell sleeves that hit just below my bustline bring said bustline visually doooown which is not where I would wish to visually take them, since they seem to know how to do that little stunt on their own. Also, being only 5'3" and having a little post-baby pot-tummy, the bell-ing sleeves also seem to make me look shorter and rounder.
I probably stood in the mirror squinting at myself for waaaaaay too long to bring you this report, and more than likely not many of you will believe that the problem is this severe, but I assure you: surgury is being planned. And those sleeves will rue the day they belled. Or something.
(Let me pause here to note that I do not blame the pattern or writer of said pattern in any way. I failed to take my own body shape and possibly etcentric view of this body into account when knitting it. Next time, I must make adjustments to lovely pattern BEFORE stitching and seeming. Remind me of that. Thanks.)
In the meantime, I am mindlessly knitting a sock. So screw you, sweater. (For now.) I think I might pick it back up again tomorrow.
For now, here's a video of Daisy's latest trick. A few weeks ago she was in a sour, haughty mood and reached deep for the very rudest thing she could think of. I realize I shouldn't encourage it, but...well. I had to get it on video. It was necessary.
You're welcome.
P.S. Translation: "Ewww, yucky! Smells your butt!" and "Oh my gosh!"
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