Taking part in https://lifeafter50forwomen.com/author/sadje19/ weekly prompt and it makes me think of the first time I held my daughter, and son, in my arms. That mop of jet-black hair, which all babies born in my family have.
Holding her new-born daughter, safely in a warm hug, she closed her eyes. There was nothing more special than this day. Years of waiting for the chance to be a Mum led her directly to this point.
Elizabeth leant next to her neck, sleeping for the first time in hours. Tired, but exhilarated, the gift of motherhood could never be forgotten. She stared out of the window and remembered the one person who wasn’t here to see her precious daughter.
Her Dad would have been so proud.
‘This is Elizabeth, Dad. Isn’t she perfect,’ she said, staring up at the stars. ‘I wish you could have got to know her, but then perhaps you already do. I promise I will look after her and keep her safe. I know you’ll be watching over her too.’
Moving away from the window, carefully putting her daughter in her cot, she sat in the rocking chair and fell asleep. Her dreams led her to a place where she could rest, ready for the next feed.
Her babies cry, special, and she could hear it anywhere.