Octopile

My little pink octopus spetipus now has a friend.

First of all, after losing sleep that my first octopus was really a hexopus, the next morning I took off the legs and re-arranged them, so I could fit all eight on. Twice.   When I was happy with the results, I spotted the eighth leg that had fallen off the table, and was hidden from view.  Really, world?  Anyway, I suffered a nasty, painful scratch on the inside part of a finger while trying to turn the hexopus into an octopus, and I was done sewing on pink legs.  So, s/he/it is now officially the septipus.

I tried again, though, after my finger had healed to the point were I was no longer worried about infection, and it stopped being painful.

As I meant this octopus to go into E’s hands (and mouth), I didn’t want to do button eyes that could be chewed off and swallowed.  I know there’s such a thing as safety eyes out there, but I just wanted to use materials I had on hand.  So, I embroidered the face on.

I love the little crooked grin.

The official story behind the variegated yarn is that my favorite attribute of cephalopods is their ability to change color.  Really, the colors of yarn I have on hand are pink, white (I may not have kids, but I’m aware of how little boys treat their toys.  And I know that white would be a terrible color choice for a toy going to a house that contains G) and a couple of variegates.

While these guys are fun and quick to make, I have to admit, I’m octoed-out right now.  BUT, they’ve given me the confidence to seek out more amigurumi (Japanese-style crocheted dolls and toys) patterns.

I’m a long way from opening an Etsy shop, but I think that if I keep practicing, I’ll get there.

You know, if I don’t get sick of these guys/get interested in something else first.

Honestly, having something to do, even these silly little octopods has kept me sane the past couple of days.  I’ve been struggling lately, and, if what my friends and family are saying on Facebook, it’s going around. There is so much medical and emotional drama surrounding me now. (And for once, none of it involves my mother!  Crap, Mom, I hope I didn’t just jinx you with that last statement)  I know that I really am blessed, and can’t complain too loudly about my situation.

But still, what’s the point of having a situation if you can’t complain about it?

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