I don’t think there was anything your father or I could have possibly done to prepare us for the force of nature that is Lucy Quinn Soell. Even in the womb you had your own way of doing things and nobody was able to convince you otherwise. You see, babies are supposed to flip onto their head while they are in their mama’s bellies in order to start their journey into this great big world. In fact, nature makes it easy! Your head is your heaviest body part. But you? Nope! You were determined to keep your head where it was, my ribs be damned! So after much suffering and deliberation it was off to the operating room for you and me and that is where you made your debut. Years from now when you complain to me that you have no brother or sister to play with, I will remind you that it is your fault. If you had just flipped over like a good little fetus, things may have been different.
The first time I held you in my arms I noticed how strong you are. My arms were still a little shaky from delivery and I felt as though someone had laid an irate octopus on my chest. One of the nurses called you “spirited” while attempting to take your temperature while you were practicing your signature flail-scream. I couldn’t pick a better word to describe you myself. You have so much spunk and spitfire in your tiny little body.
That spitfire came in handy when just two weeks from your birthday you caught a nasty virus that took us to the emergency room. I can honestly say I have never been more terrified or felt so helpless as I did while I watched them assess your struggling little lungs and poke every vein they could find. The six hours I had to wait to hold you again felt like an eternity. But you were strong and barely made a sound once they had you hooked up to the monitors and your breathing support. In fact, I probably cried twice as much as you did over your hospital stay. I always figured having children would teach me to be more patient, more kind—I never expected you to teach me to be brave. But you did. Four days later you were strong enough to go home. That was faster than any estimate the doctors had for us.
This month we also had a visit from my best and oldest friend, Tasci. She flew all the way from Prague just to meet you and hold you in her arms. It was really special being able to introduce you two while you are still so small. Tasci and I have been through so much together. In fact, I believe my survival of a small town high school can be solely attributed her. We have seen each other through the death of two parents, countless broken hearts and finding our partners with a lot of stuff in between. It was really wonderful to have her here to be a part of your story so early. I think you two will be great friends. In fact, I will give you her phone number when you turn twelve and have decided your father and I know absolutely nothing. You can call her and ask her anything. She gives great advice, especially regarding matters of the heart. She will also come in very handy when you are ready get your first passport stamp on your own.
I can already tell you are going to be a handful. You are so passionate when there is something you want. Once you have decided you are hungry, your father and I have about five seconds to produce the food you so desire OR ELSE! But you are not unreasonable. Once we have relinquished the precious bottle you go right back to being a sweet little happy baby. I love watching your face change from complete and total despair to the tiniest little grin—like you have a secret that no one else knows. I hope that passion stays with you. That kind of heart and tenacity makes life a lot more fun.
I cannot believe you are already a month old. Every day you feel a little bit heaver, your eyes are a little wider and your little cheeks look a little fuller. My heart seems to only get bigger along with you. Just when I think I couldn’t love you any more—it’s just not possible—I do. I look forward to the next month with you, to more coos and noises and bobble-headed grins.
All my love,