The Reincarnated Duchess’s Respite

I have an ideal image of a pregnant woman. She sits in a nice, sunny place while crocheting, and from time to time, she rests and places her hand on her stomach, a tranquil smile gracing her face.

That Virgin Mary-esque picture was what I envisioned.

Obviously, I didn’t think I could be like that. I, a woman labeled a wild boar by her own father, could never be so presumptuous. However, I hoped to converge toward that ideal, even if only by a little.

After forming a loop with the wool yarn, I pulled yarn through with my crochet hook. I repeated the same step over and over until I had made a small circle, and then I stopped. I released the breath I’d been holding and looked up at the ceiling.

“I don’t think crocheting is my thing,” I muttered to no one in particular.

I knew this. I had known before I’d even picked up the hook. I did not have dexterous fingers, and I’d always been horrible at the compulsory subjects typical of noblewomen—like embroidery. As a matter of fact, I had avoided homely activities like crocheting and sewing in my past life too. I liked cooking, but I was strangely inept when it came to needlework.

I had thought my pregnancy would be a good opportunity to conquer this weakness, but it wasn’t an easy endeavor. I was too hung up on not making any mistakes and kept unconsciously holding my breath. Because of that, even crocheting the tiniest chains consumed a considerable amount of time. On top of that, despite my efforts, the finished product was extremely mediocre. I’d lost count of how many times I’d unraveled and restarted.

Maybe it’d be better to leave this to the pros, I thought in resignation. But then I frantically shook my head.It’s too early to give up. And don’t think about how babies seem happier with store-bought goods either. I somehow rallied my dejected emotions and gripped my hook once more.

I drew a deep breath, as though I were about to dive underwater, but right then, someone called out to me.

“Ex