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 first, without rushing into parenthood.
Emilys son had long since moved to America with no plans to return. Her nieces and nephews were grown, but none of them had children yet. The house was quietno laughter of little ones, no hope of new life.
One day, at the shop, Emily spotted a bundle of yarn. The soft hues of British wool enchanted her. Shed intended to knit herself a cardigan and bought fine needles and a crochet hook. But before she knew it, she was knitting booties.
By evening, the first pair was done. There was plenty of yarn left. The next day, she made a bonnet, then a tiny jumper and matching trousers. To finish the set, she dug out an old button box and picked the prettiest oneslittle golden suns.
She washed the pieces in a basin with wool-safe detergent, then carefully laid them to dry on a fluffy towel. Staring at the tiny ensemble, Emily sighed.
“Ill die without ever holding my grandchildren…”
But then another thought struck her.
“Somewhere out there, a baby needs these.”
She opened her laptop to search for local childrens homes. After reading a few articles, she gathered herself and returned to the shopthis time for blue yarn.
A few days later, shed knitted a set for a baby boy. Then ten more pairs of booties, ten more warm hats, each in a different colour. Packing them into a box, she set off for the childrens home.
“Without certificates, we cant accept handmade items,” the worker explained. “Nappies would be more helpfultheyre always needed.”
Emily stood there, clutching her knitted gifts, tears welling up.
“Fine, lets sort something out,” the woman finally relented. “Come on, well try them on the little ones.”
Emily cradled the babies, 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 nappies wouldve been better.”
“Thats fine,” he replied. “Well buy some tomorrow. Now, lets get dinner on.”
“Theyd never let us adoptwere too old. Im 61, youre 62,” Emily said sadly.
“Maybe not,” he said calmly. “But no ones closing the door on us. We can visit, help out. Knit more booties and sockstheyll always be useful.”
“Theres a pairtwins, a boy and a girl. Sweet little things, nearly two,” Emily mused. “I think theyd suit knitted outfits. Might be big now, but children grow fast. The booties fit perfectlyI made them like little trainers.”
“Lets go together,” her husband offered. “Ill sort it. Well visit them.”
And he did. For four months, they volunteered at the home. Emily knitted new outfits and booties for the twins, whod started calling her “Mum.” But one day, when they arrived, the children were gone.
“Would you believe it? Theyve been adoptedboth at once!” the worker said. “We took photos in your knitted outfits, and a couple called that same day. The paperwork took months, but this morning, they were collected. We were afraid no one would take two at once.”
Tears pricked Emilys eyes.
“Dont cry, silly,” her husband said gently. “This is good news.”
That evening, their daughter called.
“Mum, Dad, can you come over? I need help.”
“Something with the plumbing?” Emily asked. “Or the neighbours flooded you again?”
“No,” her daughter replied. “We need to assemble a bed. Just let yourselves indont ring.”
“Alright, were on our way,” Emily nodded.
They drove their Rover to her flat. The place sparkled, and the smell of something delicious wafted from the kitchen. Emily and her husband took off their shoes and slipped into slippers.
“Wash your hands and wait in the lounge,” their daughter called from the kitchen. “Ill be right there.”
They sat on the sofa, idly watching the news. Suddenly, her husband nudged her.
She looked up. In the doorway stood her son-in-law, James.
In his arms were the twins, dressed in the outfits Emily had knittedtiny booties shaped like trainers. The boy clutched a slice of apple, while the girl, cheeks smeared, grinned and tried to steal a bite. James smiled.
“Dont know how to say this but youve got grandchildren now. We kept quiet in case it fell through. Janes just making their porridge.”
Jane rushed in, flushed and beaming.
“Mum, Dad, meet Lily and Oliver. I saw their photo on the adoption page. Twinsjust like me and my brother.”
“And their bootiesjust like the ones you knitted us. Remember that photo where were two? I showed James, and he said, Were taking them.”
James set the children down. They toddled to Emily, arms outstretched, shouting,
“Mama! Mama!”
Emily scooped them up, kissing their faces, wiping tears as she murmured,
“Not MamaGranny. Im your Granny.”
Her husband chuckled.
“Now why are you crying? Better buy more wool. Theyll need socks soonbooties wont fit forever.”
Sometimes, what we long for finds us in ways we never expect. Love has a way of weaving its own pathone stitch at a time.
