Why Emily took up knitting booties, even she couldnt say.
Her daughter had just turned forty. Two years ago, shed been widowed without having children. Last year, she remarried, but her new husband was much younger and insisted they werent in a hurrylife was for living, after all.
Emilys son had long since moved to America with no plans to return. Her nephews were grown, but starting families of their own was still a distant thought. The house echoed with silence, no tiny footsteps or gurgling laughter to fill it.
Then one day, she spotted yarn in a shop. The soft hues of British wool enchanted her. Shed intended to knit herself a cardigan, bought fine needles and a hookbut somehow, she found herself making baby booties instead.
By evening, the first pair was done. There was plenty of yarn left. The next day, she knitted a bonnet, then a tiny jumper and matching trousers with braces. Digging through an old button box, she picked out the prettiest oneslittle golden suns.
She washed everything in gentle wool detergent, carefully laid them out to dry on a fluffy towel. Gazing at the miniature set, Emily sighed.
*”Ill die without ever holding a grandchild.”*
But then another thought struck her.
*”Somewhere out there, theres a baby who needs these.”*
She opened her laptop, searching for childrens homes nearby. After reading a few articles, she bundled up and headed back to the shopthis time for shades of blue.
A few days later, shed knitted a whole set for a baby boy. Then ten more pairs of booties, ten cosy little hats, each in different colours. Packing them into a box, she set off for the nearest care home.
*”We cant accept handmade items without certification,”* explained the worker. *”Nappies wouldve been betterwe always need those.”*
Emily stood there, clutching her knitted gifts, tears welling up.
*”Fine, lets sort something out,”* the woman relented. *”Come on, well try the booties on some of the little ones.”*
Emily cradled the babies, stroking their soft cheeks, slipping the booties onto tiny feet. For the older ones, she fitted the hats.
Back home, she told her husband: *”They said nappies wouldve been better.”*
*”Right,”* he said. *”Well buy some tomorrow. Now, lets boil some potatoes.”*
*”Theyll never let us adoptwere too old. Im 61, youre 62,”* Emily muttered.
*”Maybe not,”* he replied calmly. *”But no ones boarding up the door. We can visit, help out. Knit all the booties and socks theyll ever need.”*
*”Theres a pairtwins, a boy and a girl. Sweet little things, nearly two,”* she mused. *”I could knit them matching outfits. Too big for now, but kids grow fast. The booties fit perfectlyI made them like little trainers.”*
*”Well go together,”* he offered. *”Ill sort it. Well visit them.”*
And he did. For four months, Emily and her husband volunteered there. She knitted new outfits, booties for when they outgrew the old ones. The twins even started calling her *Mum*. But one day, when they arrived, the children were gone.
*”Would you believe it? They were adoptedboth together,”* the worker said. *”We took photos in your knitted outfits, and a couple called that very day. Months of paperwork, and this morning, they left. We were terrified no one would take two at once.”*
Emilys eyes brimmed with tears.
*”Now, now, dont cry, silly,”* her husband chided gently. *”We should be happy.”*
That evening, their daughter rang.
*”Mum, Dad, can you pop over? Need some help.”*
*”Is it the tap again?”* Emily asked. *”Or did the neighbours flood you?”*
*”No, just need a bed assembling,”* she replied. *”Can you come? Dont ringjust let yourselves in.”*
*”Fine, were on our way,”* Emily nodded.
They climbed into their old Rover and drove over. The flat was spotless, the smell of something delicious wafting from the kitchen. They slipped off their shoes and padded inside.
*”Wash your hands and wait in the lounge,”* their daughter called. *”Be right there.”*
They settled on the sofa, half-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 Emilys knitted outfits and tiny trainer-shaped booties. The boy clutched a piece of apple, the girlcheeks smearedgrinned mischievously, trying to steal a bite. James was beaming.
*”Dont even know how to say this Well, youve got grandchildren now. We didnt tell you earlier in case it fell through. Joannes just finishing their porridge.”*
Joanne rushed in, flushed and smiling.
*”Mum, Dad, meet Poppy and Archie. Saw their photo on the adoption page. Twins, just like me and my brother. And looktheir booties match the ones you knitted for us. Remember that photo where we were two? Showed James, and he said, Were taking them.”*
James set the children down. They toddled straight to Emily, stretching out their little hands, shouting:
*”Mum! Mum!”*
She scooped them up, kissing their faces, wiping her tears.
*”Not Mum, lovesGran. Im your Gran.”*
Then, half-dazed, she kept murmuring:
*”Gran Gran Gran”*
Her husband chuckled.
*”Now whats all the fuss? Time to buy more wool. Better knit socksthose booties wont fit forever.”*
