"I'm knitting a uterus."

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My friend Gretchen knits uteri.

She emailed me and said she was going to send me one of her knit uteri, but when the box arrived there were two, along with a note explaining that she couldn't bear the sight of one lonely uterus in a box, so there you go.

I have previously noted that diagrams of the female reproductive anatomy make me think of someone performing jazz hands, but Gretchen's uteri are different. Gretchen's hand-crafted uteri go beyond a simple dance move, although they do look as though they might spring into a series of cartwheels any minute.

I love the way Gretchen's uteri victoriously display their fallopian tubes, the way they reach for the sky instead of drooping downward. I love the way the ovaries beckon the world like waving hands.


My friend Gretchen's uteri are proud of what they are.

Gretchen's uteri are so powerful they somehow soften the weirdly angular word uteri, which in any context other than being assigned to a knit cartwheeling reproductive plush, might evoke intimidating medical journals or unfriendly aliens from an ancient Star Trek episode.

Gretchen told me that, when asked what she is doing when she is knitting a uterus, answering with, "I'm knitting a uterus," gives her singular satisfaction. Who could argue? Not me. Hence the title of this post.

I am unsure what I will do with my two uteri. For now, it's easy enough just to bask in this honeymoon period, during which my humble household becomes accustom to the uteri and vice versa.

That is all.

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