**Diary Entry**
I cant quite say why Hazel started knitting baby booties. She wasnt even sure herself.
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 wasnt ready for kids yethe wanted time for himself.
Hazels son had long since moved to America with no plans to return. Her nieces and nephews had grown up, but none had started families of their own. The house was quiet, no childish laughter, no anticipation of a new arrival.
Then, one day at the shop, Hazel spotted a bundle of yarn. The soft hues of British wool enchanted her. Shed meant to knit herself a cardiganbought thin needles and a crochet hookbut somehow, without thinking, she found herself stitching tiny booties.
By evening, the first pair was done. There was still plenty of wool left. The next day, she made a bonnet, then a jumper and little trousers with braces. When the set was finished, she dug out an old button box and picked the prettiest onestiny golden suns.
She washed everything in a basin with gentle wool soap, laid them carefully on a towel to dry. Staring at the delicate little outfit, Hazel sighed.
*”Ill die without ever holding a grandchild.”*
But then another thought came:
*”Somewhere out there, a baby needs these.”*
She opened her laptop, searching for childrens homes nearby. After reading a few articles, she gathered herself and went back to the shopthis time for blue wool.
A few days later, shed knitted a set for a baby boy. Then ten more pairs of booties and ten cosy hats, each a different colour. Packing them into a box, she took them to the care home.
*”We cant accept these without certificates,”* the worker explained. *”Nappies wouldve been betterwe always need those.”*
Hazel stood there, clutching her knitted gifts, tears running down her face.
*”All right,”* the woman finally relented. *”Come on, lets try them on the babies.”*
Hazel cradled the infants, stroked their soft cheeks, and slipped the booties onto tiny feet. For the older ones, she fitted the hats.
When she got home, she told her husband, *”They said to bring nappies next time.”*
*”Fine,”* he replied. *”Well get some tomorrow. For now, lets make dinner.”*
*”Theyll never give us a child. Were too oldIm 61, youre 62,”* Hazel murmured sadly.
*”Maybe not,”* he said calmly. *”But no ones shutting the door on us. We can arrange visits, help out. Knit booties, sockstheyll always be needed.”*
*”Theres a pair theretwins, a boy and a girl. Fair-haired, nearly two,”* Hazel mused. *”I think theyd fit the knitted sets. They might be too big now, but kids grow fast. The booties are just their sizeI made them like little trainers.”*
*”Lets go together,”* her husband offered. *”Ill sort it out. Well visit them.”*
And he did. For four months, Hazel and her husband volunteered at the home. She knitted new outfits, booties for growing feet, and the twins had even started calling her *Mum*. But one day, when they arrived, the children were gone.
*”You wont believe ittheyve been adopted. Both of them,”* the worker said. *”We took photos in your knitted sets, and that same day, a couple rang. They sorted the paperwork, and this morning, they took them. We were afraid no one would want two at once.”*
Tears welled in Hazels eyes.
*”Why are you crying, silly?”* her husband said gently. *”This is good news.”*
That evening, their daughter called.
*”Mum, Dad, can you come over? I need help.”*
*”Is it the tap again?”* Hazel asked. *”Or have the neighbours flooded you?”*
*”No, I need a cot assembled,”* she replied. *”Will you come? Dont ringjust use your keys.”*
*”All right,”* Hazel agreed.
They got into their Rover and drove over. The flat was spotless, the smell of something delicious drifting from the kitchen. Hazel and her husband slipped off their shoes.
*”Wash your hands and go through,”* their daughter called. *”Ill be right there.”*
They sat on the sofa, idly watching the news. Then her husband nudged her lightly.
She looked up. In the doorway stood her son-in-law, Daniel.
In his arms were the twins, dressed in Hazels knitted sets and tiny trainer booties. The boy clutched a piece of apple; the girl, cheeks smeared, grinned and tried to bite his. Daniel was smiling.
*”Dont quite know how to say this well, youve got grandchildren now. We didnt tell you earlierwerent sure itd work out. Sarahs just finishing their porridge.”*
Sarah rushed in, flushed and beaming.
*”Mum, Dad, meet Emily and Oliver. I saw their photo on the adoption page. Twins, just like me and my brother.”*
*”And their bootiesjust like the ones you knit for us. Remember that photo of us at two? I showed Daniel, and he said, Were taking them.”*
Daniel set the children down. They ran to Hazel, stretching out their little hands, shouting:
*”Mama! Mama!”*
She pulled them close, kissing their faces, wiping her tears.
*”Not Mama, sweethearts. Im your grandma. Granny.”*
She kept murmuring it, half-dazed.
*”Gran… Gran… Gran…”*
Her husband chuckled.
*”Now what are you crying for? Better buy more wool. Socks nextthese booties wont fit for long.”*
