Baby Taylor Wedding Flower Girl
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The sun hadn’t yet risen when Taylor’s mom shook her awake, excitement bubbling as she whispered, *“Time to make magic!”* The wedding was hours away, but the checklist loomed—ribbons, petals, a dress softer than dandelion fluff. They raced to the boutique downtown, Taylor’s sneakers squeaking against polished floors as they hunted for ivory satin shoes and hairpins shaped like tiny roses. Her mom held up a sash the color of blush, eyes crinkling. *“Perfect.”* Back home, Taylor stood on a stool, arms out like a starfish, while her mom zipped her into a dress that swished like a fairy’s wings. Then came the basket—woven willow, bare and begging for life. They tucked sprigs of baby’s breath between peach roses, looping lace around the handle until it gleamed. *“Ready?”* her mom asked, tucking one final bloom behind Taylor’s ear. The church bells chimed as they arrived, Taylor’s basket trembling just a little—until she stepped inside, petals flying like confetti, and every guest gasped.
