Why Inna Started Knitting Baby Booties—She Didn’t Even Know Herself

**Diary Entry**

I still dont quite know why Emily started knitting those baby booties.

Her daughter was already forty. Two years ago, shed been widowed, never having had children. Last year, she remarried, but her 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 had children of their own yet. The house was quietno childish laughter, no hope of little footsteps on the horizon.

One day, at the market, she saw the yarn. Soft shades of British wool caught her eye. Shed meant to knit herself a cardigan, bought thin needles and a hook. But then, without meaning to, she started on a pair of tiny booties.

By evening, the first pair was done. There was still plenty of yarn left. The next day, she made a bonnet, then a little jumper and trousers with a bib. She dug out an old tin of buttons and picked the prettiest onestiny sunshines.

She washed everything by hand in lukewarm water, laid them gently on a towel to dry. Staring at the miniature set, Emily sighed.

“Ill die without ever holding my own 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 her things and went back to the shopthis time for shades of blue.

A few days later, shed finished a set for a little boy. Then ten more pairs of booties. Ten hats, each a different colour. Packing them in a box, she went to the orphanage.

“We cant take these without certificates,” the worker explained. “Nappies wouldve been betterwe always need those.”

Emily stood there, clutching her knitted gifts, tears slipping down her cheeks.

The woman softened. “Alright, lets sort this. Come on, well try them on the babies.”

Emily held them, stroking their soft cheeks, slipping booties onto tiny feet. For the older ones, she fitted the hats.

At home, she told her husband.

“They said nappies wouldve been better.”

“Right,” he said. “Well get some tomorrow. Now, lets peel the potatoes.”

“They wont let us adopt. Were too oldIm 61, youre 62,” Emily murmured.

“Maybe not,” he said calmly. “But no ones shutting us out. We can visit, help. Knit more booties, more sockstheyll always be needed.”

“Theres a pairtwins, a boy and a girl. Fair-haired. Nearly two,” Emily said thoughtfully. “I think theyd suit knitted sets. Maybe a bit big now, but children grow fast. The booties I made are just their sizelittle 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 sets, booties for when they outgrew the last. The twins began calling her “Mummy.”

Then one day, they arrivedand 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 rang that same day. Paperwork took months, but this morning, they left. Honestly, we worried no one would take two at once.”

Emilys eyes welled up.

“Dont cry, silly,” her husband said gently. “Be happy for them.”

That evening, her daughter called.

“Mum, can you and Dad come over? I need help.”

“Something wrong with the sink?” Emily asked. “Neighbours flooding you again?”

“No,” her daughter replied. “Need help putting a bed together. Come round? Dont ringjust use your key.”

“Alright,” Emily nodded.

They drove over in their Rover. The flat was spotless, the smell of something delicious from the kitchen. Emily and her husband slipped off their shoes.

“Wash your hands and go through,” her daughter called. “Be right there.”

They sat on the sofa, idly watching the news. Then 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 setstiny booties shaped like trainers. The boy clutched a piece of apple; the girl, cheeks smeared, grinned and tried to steal a bite. James smiled.

“Dont quite know how to say this Well, youre grandparents now. We kept quietwasnt sure it would work. Sarahs just making their porridge.”

Sarah hurried in, flushed and beaming.

“Mum, Dad, meet Lucy and William. Saw their photo on the adoption page. Twins, like me and my brother. And the bootiesjust like the ones you knitted for us. Remember that photo, us at two? I showed James, and he said, Well take them.”

James set the children down. They toddled to Emily, stretching out their hands, shouting:

“Mummy! Mummy!”

Emily gathered them close, kissing their faces, wiping her tears.

“Im not Mummy, sweethearts. Im Granny. Granny.”

Then, as if in a daze, she murmured it again.

“Gran Gran Gran”

Her husband chuckled.

“And now what are you crying for? Best buy more wool. Socks nextbooties wont fit forever.”