The scent of my mother

In a quaint village nestled between rolling hills and lush meadows, there lived a woman named Dahlia. She was with child, and her every breath seemed to hum with the rhythm of new life growing within her.
Each morning, as the sun bathed the world in its golden light, she would step into her garden, a sanctuary her mother had cultivated with tender care. The garden was no ordinary place; it was a symphony of colours and fragrances, where every flower bloomed with a brilliance that seemed almost magical.
She had developed a habit since she had become pregnant. Every day, she would gently pluck a flower from the garden, cradling it. She would then sit by the window of the nursery and would slowly eat the flower, savoring its taste, which was a blend of sweetness and earth, a connection to the very soul of the world around her - a way for Dahlia to bond with the life growing inside her.
Finally, the day arrived, like the sudden bloom of a night flower. When the baby was born, the air was thick with the mingled scents of the flowers she had eaten. In a dance of aromas that was both enchanting and overwhelming.
The scent of the roses mingled with the lavender, the jasmine entwined with the lilies, and it was as if the garden itself had come to witness the birth. The air was alive with the perfume of life, love, and new beginnings.