15 years ago we were watching our bank accounts and computers as the threat of welcoming a new millennium threatened to erase our digital footprint. The Manhattan skyline was punctuated by two impossibly tall buildings representing America’s financial dominance. The Gulf of Mexico wasn’t coughing up tar balls from one of the worst ecological disasters in history. I was anchoring a noon newscast in South Carolina, painting and planting at our starter home, and babying our golden retriever, Holly. I was 30 years old, married, and looking to move up in my career. To say you were a surprise is a lie. We had stopped taking ‘precautions’ a few months before. To say we weren’t ready isn’t true either. I remember my mother saying “You’re never really ready to buy a house or have children, you just do it.” We were making money, we were healthy, we had a home and each other and we were ready to become a family. What we really didn’t expect was how much we were going to love you. How much joy you were going to bring. How many moments of laughter and tears and snuggles and messes we were going to enjoy. And how quickly it would all go by. I miss that baby who would pull up on her fat little legs to pull all of the CD’s out of the cabinet. The girl who would walk around nude in my high heels. The drama queen who dressed as Sleeping Beauty and belted out Disney songs. The line-leader, player one, “I’ll go first” type-A only child love of our life grew up. She was born 15 years ago on a humid southern night before Facebook, before Netflix, before her dad and I had a chance to really know what we were in for. Our lives have never been the same. And for that I am so grateful.
Happy 15th birthday Miss Lucy.