The Hurricane Girl
And just like that, she came to my world … to our world. Small and fragile, unaware of the changes she brought. I held her in my arms for the first time, and at that instant, nothing else mattered. A category five hurricane was roaring outside, but with her, my heart was at peace. Meanwhile, in my mind, during that endless first minute, I lived all the joy and fears of being responsible for a new human being.
I cannot say that the first weeks were easy. The city was recovering from what almost became the worst natural disaster in decades while we waited for the hospital’s release. Going back home, she gave us the scare of our lives when she stopped breathing in the middle of the highway. Or so we thought.
With the town in partial locked down, an emergency vehicle came in minutes, but it felt like an eternity. She was alive and well, but back in the hospital.
If the extra time at the hospital were unwanted, it gave me more time to stay with her. We stayed another five or eight days there, with daily visits from her mom, but I had the night shift. She was hooked to cables and devices, and my duty was to ensure she kept breathing.
During this time, we got close together. Not that we were not before, but in that room, only she and I. We connected. The night shift crew, like clockwork, came to check on her every two hours. They were friendly and attentive in their duties. Luckily, after the visits, she was fast back asleep, except that one night, when she decided that she did like the hospital no more and wanted to go out and enjoy the night. We threw a party in that small dark room. We danced all night. After a couple of hours of dancing and singing, I could sing no more, so I mumbled the songs. She liked that. After three or four songs more, she finally slept. We slept.
Days later, she went home, finally. It was a happy day, probably the happiest day in a week, but I would miss her. Now at home with our family, she was not mine anymore; she was ours.
During the next weeks and months, we learned. The nights were not ours no more but belonged to her. She was hungry, angry, or getting used to that new world outside the womb. Either way, sleep was unsettling; we paid attention to her breathing or any signs of trouble. Slowly we got used to her, and the nights became a little more restful. The day the doctor told us she would not need the breathing monitor was another happy day. That night, however, was terrifying. Without the device, we had no way to be alerted if something was wrong. It took another couple of weeks to get used to the new situation.
Meanwhile, she was growing. Coming home every day was full of expectations. Hearing about what she did and the little progress was exciting. I could not wait for the end of the day to stay with her.
Having tasted the forces of mother nature and their uncertainties made us move. Selling our house was easy, but leaving our home was hard. Her room was not only perfect. It was full of love. Leaving it behind was one of the most challenging things we had to do, but deep inside, it was the right thing to do.
We drove our way to our new place. Six hundred and sixty miles separated the past from the future. Her sleep and comfort dictated the route, so it took two days for what is usually a ten-hour drive. We shared a bed the first night and many nights after. During the several stops on our way home, we had fun; she was beside the unknown, very happy, and cooperative. Not that we had never moved before. It was our fourth move within the US and the eighty-time we had moved, including once from our native country. But this time was different. It’s curious how being responsible for someone else changes your perspective. Your comfort and needs become secondary, and one is ok with that.
In our new home, she spoke her first words; pumpkin. It was almost Halloween, so all the decor in the neighborhood clearly influenced that. It is so funny that to date, she only tasted pumpkin once. It was also there that she started walking, first little steps and bouncing. Months later, she was walking, still clumsy and falling in her behind after four or five steps. But walking it was.
I don’t know if her ties to nature were because she was born during a hurricane. Or if she brought the hurricane with her, as we joke. But nature is her element. Once she became bipedal and master, more or less, staying up, she would always walk towards nature. A tree, a bush, a creek, and the natural world were always more attractive to her than the man-made playgrounds.
Like most kids that age, they don’t know fear. So we were always afraid of her walking around trees and branches, but she was ok. Nature was her safety; our concrete-made world is what scared her sometimes.
Another year passed, and another move happened, now to a more permanent lodging. She was almost three years old, and we finally felt at home again. Not that the old place was not good, but it had no soul. It was a temporary place and, as such, always felt transitory.
In our first weeks in the new place, she fell and hit her mouth against the counter edge. Blood like on a horror movie sprouts from her little mouth. After stopping the bleeding, we rushed to the emergency room. The doctor recommended stitches and directed us to another hospital. During all this time, she was ok, much calmer than we were, with the prospect of stitches.
Almost four hours had passed, and we were finally out of the hospital. Hungry, tired, and in pain, our little hurricane girl was angry. Category five angry! It took several minutes to calm her down so we could return home. The next day she was ok and playful, like the calm after the storm.
Now it has been almost five years since that first afternoon when I met her, and I cannot imagine my life without her. Her untamed energy, joyful-angry personality, and unconditional love cannot be measured. We live it every day, and like a hurricane passing by, it changes everything.
Living with her is full of challenges, like trying to control a hurricane, but I would not change it for anything.
