Better luck next time

I promised, ages ago, that I would do something, even at the high risk of failure, with the fabric that I'd been hoarding forever in my search for the "perfect project" to use it on. Well, months ago I made up my mind. I wanted a dress. You see, being either pregnant or nursing for most of the past nine years has made wearing regular dresses rather impractical. But now that I was neither, I finally found myself in a position to actually wear a dress, yet there were very few options in my closet that didn't scream "1999."

So, I chose a pattern, cut out the pieces and then—very, very cautiously—cut out the precious fabric. Eek. I had to do some careful maneuvering and minor adjustments to the pattern in order to include as much of the embroidered design as possible without losing symmetry. I couldn't fit the very top of the design on the skirt front, but I was able to place the rest of it as a little flourish on the back. (I'm rather fond of that bit of detail.)


However, before I could finish the project, I got buried under a gazillion graphic design jobs, so I put the sewing on pause. For three months.

Whew. I got most of the design work almost done, breathed a sigh of relief, and then I found out I was pregnant. ACK! Now I really had to hurry to finish the dress before my body ballooned beyond all hope of fitting into the size I'd cut out.

So, in a mad rush, I pinned and trimmed and sewed and serged and got all the major pieces assembled on the night before Easter Sunday, hoping against hope that the dress would fit. Then I hurried with baited breath to try it on. I could zip it up, but breathing? Forget about it. And at this stage of my life, air, as you may imagine, is rather important.

With a heavy heart, I hung the unfinished garment on a hanger and deposited it in the back of the closet. Not much point in staying up late to complete it. Alas. I decided to put off hand stitching the final details until I actually have a hope of wearing it. The work will be more gratifying then—even if it is two years from now. I'm not sure I'd call this a failure; I think I actually like how it turned out, although we'll see how I feel about it when I finally regain my original shape. Just poor timing. *Sigh.*

Here's to delayed gratification.