**Diary Entry The Arrival of Little Amelia**
Ill never forget the moment the phone rang that evening. “Mum, I think its time,” Emilys voice was strained but calm on the other end. “The doctor says we should go to the hospital, just in case.”
“Of course, love,” I replied, already reaching for my coat. “Is Oliver on his way?”
“Yes, hes leaving work now. Mum, please dont worry too much. Everything will be fine.”
Emily always put others first, even now. I smiled into the phone, my heart swelling with pride. “Well be there soon, darling.”
Half an hour later, Oliver pulled up outside, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. “Mum, hurryher contractions are ten minutes apart.”
“First labours take time, love,” I said, patting his arm. But secretly, I shared his nerves. Emily was so slight, and the pregnancy had been hard on hermorning sickness, swollen ankles, her blood pressure all over the place. The doctors insisted it was normal, but a mothers heart never rests.
At St. Marys, the midwife barely glanced up from her clipboard. “Name? Maternity notes?”
Oliver handed them over, his jaw tight. Emily was whisked away, leaving us in the crowded waiting roomnervous fathers clutching flowers, exhausted grandparents sipping terrible coffee.
“How long do you think itll be?” Oliver paced like a caged tiger.
“Hard to say. With you, it was eighteen hours.”
His face paled. “Eighteen?!”
I squeezed his hand. “Worth every second. Look at the strapping lad you became.”
Hours dragged. Oliver rang the ward every thirty minutes, but the answer was always the same: “Progressing well, keep waiting.” By dawn, a midwife finally appeared. “Family of Emily Harris? Congratulationsa healthy girl, 7 pounds 4 ounces.”
Oliver hugged me, both of us crying with relief. “Grandma,” I whispered, wiping my eyes. “Oliver, youre a father!”
They let us up to the postnatal ward by midday. Emily looked exhausted but radiant, cradling a tiny bundle. “Meet Amelia,” she said softly.
I peered at the wrinkled little face. “Oh, my sweetheart. She has your nose, Oliver.”
Oliver hovered, afraid to touch her. “Here,” Emily laughed. “You wont break her.”
Watching him cradle his daughter, my chest ached with joy.
—-
The first weeks were a blur of nappies and sleepless nights. I moved in to helpcooking, cleaning, rocking Amelia when Emily napped. But gradually, I noticed Emily withdrawing.
“Are you all right, love?” I asked one morning.
“Im fine. Just tired.”
“But youre resting! Im doing everything.”
“Thats the problem,” she said quietly. “Shes my baby, Mum. I need to learn.”
It came to a head one night when Amelia wouldnt settle. I swooped in, but Emily stopped me. “Let me try. The doctor said breastfeedings important.”
I bit my lip. “Youre holding her wrong. Lift her head higher.”
Emilys eyes welled up. “Please, Mum. Just let me be her mother.”
Oliver intervened, and later, we found a balanceEmily took the lead with Amelia, while I handled meals and laundry. It wasnt easy. My hands itched to step in, but I held back, watching her grow more confident.
Then one night, Amelia spiked a fever. Emily panicked. “Call an ambulance!”
I checked her gums. “Teeth, love. Early, but it happens.” The GP confirmed it later.
Emily looked at me differently thennot as interference, but as a lifeline. “Im sorry, Mum. I didnt realise how much we needed you.”
Now, as I watch her soothe Amelia, humming a lullaby, I understand. Family isnt about space or control. Its about thisthree generations under one roof, learning, loving, and holding each other through the chaos.
And little Amelia? Shes the thread that binds us all.
