Babies on a clothesline.

I thought my baby fever had finally broken but apparently it has returned; with a vengeance. I cruised down to Martha Street today to shoot some new screens for the new projects festering in my brain and to eat a sandwich as I printed solo while my other freshly coated screens stood to dry. I listened to Jenny Lewis, sang along loud in the comfort of the empty studio and ripped through a shit tonne of ink. Jeannette came with a real fever and printed doilies on one of the grocery bags that Jill made for us. It looked pretty bonkers. Sadly, I was game to start printing on my grocery tote but the idiot who coated my screen did it too thick leaving me no choice but to pressure wash it and start from scratch. (As annoying as that was, it felt nice to know that someone knew less about coating than I did; not being a complete rookie anymore is awesome).

A few weeks ago while visiting Yosh in the woods, we stopped in at the feeding frenzy that is Steinbach MCC on a Saturday morning after breakfast. I stocked up on a bunch of fabric and other cool knick-knacks as it was "Bag Day" which pretty much means you are handed a paper shopping bag the moment you walk in the door by someone with a thick beard and an even thicker accent who says simply, fill it for five bucks; so you do. You just do it. I was nearly spilling with joy and my bag was nearly spilling with some of the things I found (half duck boots half winter Sorel boots, WTF? Awesome). I very nearly cashed in my bounty at the till when the baby section caught my eye. Mid step, I heaved my body in that direction and Yosh's shoulders heaved in disbelief. More? Can you actually fit more shit into that bag Megan? Are you serious?!? That is what his eyes said as I sprinted across the room with a certain joie de vivre. (Whatever. I have put in hours and hours feigning interest over musical instruments at Mothers and a million other music stores in this city with that man).

Now, it must be said. I have a weakness for the baby section in every store whether it be high or low end. It makes no difference (except maybe the smell, but who really cares anyway). I am my mother's daughter and my sister's sister one hundred percent when it comes to justifying the sometimes outrageous, sometimes not so outrageous price tag attached to cutsie baby clothes. If it is thirty bones for a pair of the softest leggings in the world; you buy them because they are the softest leggings in the world. If you stumble upon a leather skirt for a two month old, you buy it even if no one has a two month old. A two month old worthy of that leather skirt will come along eventually. We all do it. It is totally insane. Now back to Steinbach MCC's Bag Sale. Considering the economic plight we are currently swimming like desperate dogs in, I perused the ailses with enthusiasm. Ideas were flying in my head as my fingers grazed through the racks of teensy underthings, white snappy onesies, cloth diapers, baby long johns, you name it. Just like in any store I enter, I was shopping by feel. My fingers ripping these bite sized articles from their hangers the second I felt good cotton. I was also looking for anything white or plain. I found about ten satisfactory things and one really good piece and made my way to the till. Yosh was waiting patiently as always and I slid my five dollar bill across the counter feeling a bit guilty for the highway robbery I just pulled off.

To bring this back to Martha Street, I put some of my white baby clothes to good use and silk screened the shit out of them with Jill's baby in mind. Forks and knives, mauve doilies and hotplates dappling my now not-so-plain onesies. I am psyched. Below is the first yield of the fruit of my labor. It only took about ten tries to get the right consistency. I think I have found my calling: silk screen and baby clothes. Now I need a baby model and my Nikon and I am set.

Someone have a baby already. Baby Maiya, baby Norah, baby Solomon, baby Maddy? I will happily set one of you up against a Ukrainian doll backdrop. Call me.