Newsletter from Jay Wilcox - February 2024: To Ursula

Good morning/afternoon/evening, Ursula!

I don't know when or where you're reading this, but I do know that you've been subscribed to my newsletter for the past few months, so I wanted to send you a special edition on the month of your birth.

You came into the world at 5:35 AM on January 12, 2024. You had so much hair! I admit, I was a bit surprised you turned out blonde (although I don't know what color your hair is now, in whatever year you're reading this). I was joking with people that you had a mullet. You took my hand within minutes. I'll never forget your long, pink, wrinkly fingers. Your hands were pretty big for someone your age! It won't be long before you're palming basketballs and ripping phone books in half.

Dude, you've been the easiest baby so far. At the hospital, on the second night of your life, a nurse had to draw blood from your heel for testing, and I kid you not, you fell asleep during the needle prick. As this lady continued to draw your blood, you just nuzzled deeper into your mother's arms--as if you'd been waiting to come home to this exact spot. Hannah (that's your mother) made birth look easy. We'll spend our lives witnessing her greatness.

My goal in this moment is to write without editing. To get it all down while it's here, because I know how fast you'll grow up. I wish there were a way to always have this version of you--to hold you in my arms like this forever. Of course, I'll probably be saying that for the rest of my life as you grow up. You already look more like a baby now and less like a newborn, and I love you more than ever at this stage. I hold tight to our time--everything we've done so far and everything I can only imagine.

Infinite Love (and Regards),

Dad