She took parenting classes, met with pediatric specialists, and prepared her home all over again — painting the nursery a warm cream color, setting up a cradle near her own bed, and knitting tiny sweaters with her arthritic hands.
The First Year of Love
Those early months were hard — harder than she’d imagined. Clara struggled with feeding, and nights were long and sleepless. Margaret’s back ached, her hands shook, but she refused to give up.
Every time she felt exhausted, she would look at Clara’s wide, trusting eyes, and energy would return.
Neighbors who had once doubted her began stopping by with small gifts — diapers, blankets, baby toys. Her quiet house filled with sounds again: Clara’s laughter, lullabies, the clatter of dishes in the sink.
Every milestone, no matter how small, was celebrated — the first smile, the first time Clara rolled over, her first soft “Nana.” Margaret would kiss her forehead and whisper, “You’re my reason for waking up.”
