#wovenwrap

GLITCHAUS BUG HONEY GLITCHAUS BUGってハニー

ed.002 in a new series of official glitch textiles from glitchaus. this motif was created with a technique pioneered in 2001 to generate knit and woven textile motifs. throws are woven in 100% cotton and measure 54x70” (137x177cm)

0rder 0nline

When I first bought my Liliana Winter, I didn’t know she would become such a symbol of growth for me. The girl I purchased her from mentioned it was the very last piece of fabric off the loom — a little longer than usual, though I’ve never measured to be sure. I loved the idea that this wrap was somehow one of a kind, even before I truly understood what that meant.

I had bought it on a whim, intending to use it for an overlay project for a Sakura Bloom Onbuhimo. I’d just been through the sting of a misrepresented sale — a bundle that arrived stained, incomplete, and disappointing. That experience hit hard. I had joined this babywearing community hoping for connection, inspiration, and something beautiful to hold onto. Instead, I found myself frustrated, anxious, and unsure if I even belonged here.

I was still deep in postpartum anxiety and exhaustion, desperate to feel capable again. Babywearing felt like a small piece of control I could reach for — something that could keep Sy close while giving me just a sliver of freedom back.

Discovering the Art of Overlays

Around that time, I learned about overlays — the way people transform carriers with wrap fabric. It felt magical: taking something worn and loved, and giving it new life with fabric that carries its own story. I remember asking, almost shyly, how much it cost. When I was refunded from that disappointing sale, I decided that money would go toward creating something new.

That’s how I found Liliana Winter. I imagined her as both a solution and a statement — soft but strong, art stitched into function. I didn’t know then how much she’d teach me.

Learning to Wrap: The Messy Middle

I won’t romanticize it: wrapping did not come easily for me.

There were days Sy and I both cried through attempts. I’d watch the videos, study the tutorials, follow each step, and still somehow end up with a seat popped or a knot that didn’t feel right. My arms would ache, sweat would drip, and I’d question myself over and over — Why can’t I get this?

Sy wasn’t always the most cooperative partner, either. He’s a spirited soul — curious, busy, and happiest when he can see everything I’m doing. Back carries weren’t part of his plan. He’d straighten his legs, push off me, or twist to see my face.

The more he fought, the more I panicked. Every attempt turned into a test of willpower. But eventually, I realized he wasn’t fighting me. He was just communicating, in the only way he knew how.

So I adapted. I wrapped over the bed. I added a mirror. I tied my hair back with headbands so he couldn’t yank it mid-wrap. I practiced until the panic in my chest gave way to patience — for both of us.

And that shift changed everything.

Reconnecting with Liliana

Months passed. Today, I pulled Liliana Winter off the shelf again — my first time wrapping with her in ages. She’s still everything I remember: floppy, soft, almost buttery in hand. She folds like a blanket and wraps like a hug.

I decided on a Double Hammock carry — partly for the challenge, partly for the comfort of something familiar. The extra-long tails nearly brushed the floor, reminding me of her unusual length. She’s a thick wrap but not heavy, with a balance of grip and glide that feels stable and safe.

And as I adjusted the passes and tightened the chest belt, it hit me — this wasn’t hard anymore.

The same wrap that once overwhelmed me now felt easy in my hands.

Liliana has always been patient with me, even when I wasn’t patient with myself.

She’s my reminder that growth doesn’t happen in leaps; it happens in the quiet repetition of trying again.

Reflections: Progress Over Perfection

If I’ve learned anything through this journey, it’s that progress doesn’t look like those serene photos we all admire — the ones with tidy hair, perfect seats, and smiling babies.

Real progress is the sweaty, shaky moments you power through anyway. It’s your baby crying while you breathe deep and finish tying the last pass. It’s the moment you realize your hands remember the motions even when your heart still races.

Liliana taught me that I can do hard things. She also taught me that “hard” doesn’t mean “bad.”

Some of our best things start hard.

Now, even when Sy squirms or fusses, I can stay calm. Because I know this — what once felt impossible is now possible.