My son’s wife had always refused to let anyone hold their baby—until the day of my birthday party.

I noticed that sweat was dampening the brown curls near Willow’s ears. It was so hot that day that droplets of water were running down the sides of the lemonade pitcher.

“She must be hot,” I said cautiously. “Perhaps we could take her mittens off for a little while?”

Nancy took Willow out of her stroller and turned her towards the shade.

“She’s scratching continue reading …