ust 1979, Monica stood with the two needles in hand, the white wool in the other and eased herself down onto the sofa. Start again. It was her mother in law, Jean, who was teaching her to knit. Monica had put her foot in it by saying she loved babies all wrapped up in Woolly clothes- which of course had led to Jean pulling out some melamine needles and teaching her the steps. That had been last Saturday, and with this one fast approaching Monica hadn't made any headway with the pattern for bootees she'd been given. 'Now you're on leave dear you'll find plenty of time to be bored.' She wished, this week has been about cleaning. She felt a need to clean, all day and everything in sight. Her well thumbed baby book had said it was a natural part of the nesting period. She looked at the pile of white baby grows and vests, the shawl, the pram sheets, even the terry towelling was pristine white. Waiting patiently, almost taunting her. She had washed all the baby's things again that morning- she didn't want dust causing asthma, it was an old house and asthma seemed to be rising in children constantly. She worried too much- she knew that- but this was her first, and possibly only, child. She was nearing thirty one- a geriatric mum. They had tried before, they had their losses and their bad timings as many couples do, but this time they were really going to have a baby. The names were picked out too, unusual names, names that would make their child stand out- not be a Laura F, or a Tracy B. No she would name her Son Ira and a daughter would be Hermione. They were names she had only heard in books- Hermione from a Shakespeare from her school years, Ira, she wasn't sure where she had heard that but it was unique and simple. Ira Granger. Hermione Granger. She looked down at her bump- now very large in the last few weeks- ' 'who are you?' She thought. Placing a knitting needle in each hand she began to try and cast on the 24 stitches- for the third time that afternoon. These bootees were tied up with ribbons, when they were ready perhaps she'd be able to thread them with pink or blue, it would be a nice change from white and cream. Her mother had said it was bad luck to buy for a boy or a girl, that you should stick with neutrals or you might end up with no baby. The same with the pram, it was a shiny dark green silver cross but it was said if it came into Monica's house before the baby arrived it would always remain empty. Monica was stuck in a place between superstition and modern society, she knew the ultra sound scans were so good you could sometimes tell if the baby was a boy or girl but was that right? Shouldn't it be a surprise? She had been a surprise to her Mother and she didn't doubt her husband was one too. She dropped a stitch, time to unwind and start again. Resting her needles on her belly she pulled the wool back off the needles yet again, ready to start again.