The baby stirred in her arms and she shifted his solid little body.

The baby never stirred as we proceeded to the kitchen.

S/he reasoned that the baby must have stirred, cried for his mother.

The baby stirred and she touched his fine hair with her finger.

As if in answer, the baby stirred and cried weakly.

But then the baby would stir in its sleep and put up one tiny pink hand, perhaps seeking for something to hold on to.

As the baby stirred inside her, she found the strength to step back.

She pulled away from him and smiled as the baby stirred.

The baby stirred, a reminder that she had no time to waste, either.

The baby was stirring, she told herself as her mouth went dry.