Why Emily started knitting booties, she couldnt quite say.
Her daughter had just turned forty. Two years ago, shed been widowed, never having had children. Last year, she remarried, but her new husband was much younger and insisted he wanted to live for himself, without rushing into parenthood.
Emilys son had long since moved to America with no plans to return. Her nieces and nephews had grown up, but none were ready for children of their own. The house was emptyno laughter, no hope of little feet pattering about.
One day, while shopping, Emily spotted some yarn. The soft hues of British wool enchanted her. Shed planned to knit herself a cardigan, buying fine needles and a hook. But without meaning to, she found herself knitting booties instead.
By evening, the first pair was done. She still had plenty of yarn left. The next day, she stitched a bonnet, then a tiny jumper and trousers with braces. Digging through an old button box, she picked the prettiest oneslittle sun-shaped toggles.
She washed the set by hand in wool-safe detergent, spreading them to dry on a fluffy towel. Gazing at the miniature outfits, Emily sighed.
“Ill die without ever holding a grandchild,” she murmured.
Then another thought struck her.
“Somewhere out there, a baby needs these.”
She opened her laptop, searching for local childrens homes. After reading a few articles, she gathered herself and went back for more yarnthis time in shades of blue.
Days later, shed finished a set for a little boy. Then ten more pairs of booties and ten cosy hats, each a different colour. Packing them in a box, she headed to the childrens home.
“Without certificates, we cant accept handmade items,” the worker explained. “Nappies wouldve been betterwe always need those.”
Emily stood there, clutching her knitted gifts, tears welling up.
“Fine, lets sort something,” the woman finally relented. “Come on, well try the booties on the babies.”
Emily cradled the infants, stroking their soft cheeks, slipping booties onto tiny feet. The older ones got the hats.
At home, she told her husband, “They said nappies wouldve been better.”
“Right,” he said. “Well buy some tomorrow. Now, lets get the potatoes on.”
“Theyll never let us have a childwere too old. Im 61, youre 62,” Emily said glumly.
“Maybe not,” he replied calmly. “But the doors not closed. We can visit, help out. Knit booties and sockstheyll always be needed.”
“Theres a pairtwins, a boy and a girl. Fair-haired. Nearly two,” Emily mused. “I reckon knitted suits would fit them. Might be too big now, but kids grow fast. The booties were just their sizeI made them like little trainers.”
“Lets go together,” he offered. “Ill sort it. Well visit them.”
And he did. For four months, they volunteered at the home. Emily knitted new suits and booties, and the twins started calling her “Mummy.” But one day, when they arrived, the children were gone.
“Would you believe it? They were adoptedboth at once,” the worker said. “We took photos in your knitted suits, and a couple phoned that same day. Spent months sorting paperwork, and this morning, they took them. We were worried they wouldnt want two at once.”
Emilys eyes filled with tears.
“Now, now, no need for that,” her husband said gently. “This is good news.”
That evening, their daughter called.
“Mum, Dadcan you come over? I need help.”
“Is it the tap again?” Emily asked. “Or have the neighbours flooded you?”
“No, its the cot,” she said. “Can you come? Dont ringjust use your keys.”
“Alright, were on our way,” Emily nodded.
They got into their Rover and drove over. The flat was spotless, the smell of something delicious wafting from the kitchen. They kicked off their shoes and slipped on slippers.
“Wash your hands and wait in the lounge,” their daughter called from the kitchen. “Be right there.”
They settled on the sofa, the news murmuring in the background. Suddenly, her husband nudged her.
She looked up. In the doorway stood her son-in-law, Tom.
In his arms were the twins, dressed in Emilys knitted suits and little trainer booties. The boy clutched a piece of apple; the girl, cheeks smeared, grinned and tried to snatch it. Tom smiled.
“Dont quite know how to say this Well, youre grandparents now. We kept quiet in case it fell through. Janicell be alongshes making their porridge.”
Janice rushed in, flushed and beaming.
“Mum, Dadmeet Lily and Jack. I saw their photo on the adoption page. Twins, just like me and my brother.”
“And their bootiesjust like the ones you knitted for us. Remember that photo, when we were two? I showed Tom, and he said, Were taking them.”
Tom set the children down. They toddled to Emily, tiny hands reaching, shouting,
“Mummy! Mummy!”
Emily hugged them, kissing their faces, wiping tears as she whispered,
“Not Mummy, darling. Grandma. Granny.”
Again and again, as if in a daze, she murmured,
“Gran Gran Gran”
Her husband chuckled.
“Now whatre you crying for? Time to buy more wool. Socks nextthese booties wont fit forever.”
