Kiddo#1, jealous that Kiddo#2 got my first pair of socks, asked for my second pair. No problem.
(For the record, Kiddo#2 only got the socks because I cast on too tightly and couldn’t get the thing over my ankle.)
Yesterday, I had Kiddo#1 pull the sock onto his foot so I could figure out how much further I needed to knit before I started the toes. And despite the fact that I’d cast on very loosely, the sock wouldn’t go on. When it did go on, it was tight.
I said, “Well, I guess Kiddo#2 gets another set of socks.”
And Kiddo#1, ever resourceful, said, “Why don’t I try it on my other foot?”
When I expressed confusion, he added, “That’s my bigger foot.” He switched feet, and sonuvagun, the sock fit.
Three years ago, the day after his seventh birthday, Kiddo#1 and I visited a local attraction, and due to an unsafe exhibit, he ended up with a 400-pound well cover or millstone dropped on his foot, plus an insurance-funded ride in an ambulance, a visit to a local ER, another ambulance ride and a three-day visit to a major metropolitan hospital plus six weeks in a cast and several visits to therapists and orthopedists. Once the cast came off and he was racing around the world again, he had no problems. I knew the foot had a bump, but I didn’t think it made a difference.
Apparently, it does.
I was still angsty about the socks until I realized, “duh,” I’m making the socks. There’s no reason I have to make both socks the same size, right? I mean, I’m the one in control here. I have the yarn. I can cast on more stitches. Or I can use larger needles. I can make something he can use and which will fit him. As Ivy says (quoting Elizabeth Zimmerman) “There are no knitting police,” and no one will arrest me for resizing the second sock to fit “his big foot.”
In the end, I’m opting for the larger needles and the customized socks for Bigfoot and Littlefoot. I’ll let you know how it works out.