My daughter is a miracle.
Honestly though, if you think about the way cells split and grow and turn into an ENTIRE little human in just 9 months—while being completely housed inside of another human—really, all babies are nothing short of miraculous.
But Stevie is our miracle and it blows my mind all the time that we get to be her parents. And that she came along when she did. Just at the right time. (Coincidences don’t exist, just divine miracles of varying degrees. Fight me.)
Not only is she here—she’s a full blown toddler now! And one of my favorite things about her is that she doesn’t fit into any box. She loves dancing and tutus. She loves cars and dinosaurs. Princesses and monsters. She’s fearless and nurturing, fiery and empathetic. And she does everything all-out.
I’m pretty sure she’s advanced too. (Said every parent ever. I know.) She’s already riding a scooter and scrambling up and across her climbing wall like a little spider monkey.
So when our friends Cady and Will asked if she was ready for a balance bike, we said heck yes. They are absolute beasts at cycling and have become family to us over the last few years, so we were excited for them to share Stevie’s first bike moment with us.
A couple months later Auntie Cady and Uncle Will drove through Bay Area traffic on Friday night (dedication) to deliver Stevie’s new whip.
And I was not ready for how cool it was.
Cady had found an old Strider bike, stripped it down and completely refurbished and repainted it. She put the utmost care and love into every detail.
Brand new wheels with yellow rims. Matte white paint on the whole frame (with a reflective coating on the handlebars for safety). A fresh seat and components.
But my favorite part was the custom lettering she added to the top tube. In yellow flame font it read: Speedy Lee.
I loved it because it felt like a pun and it sounded like a Sandlot nickname. It fit our girl really well.
When I told her I loved it, she told me why she picked it:
“I almost went with ‘Stevie Lee,’ but I thought this would be better for the next kid.”
I smiled so, so big.
The next day I cried for a while thinking about the way Cady said “the next kid.” She had just smiled at me from across the driveway while Stevie scooted past on her new bike, and without skipping a beat, confidently spoke about our second child.
It was healing to hear her address our unknown daughter or son as if there was nothing standing between us and meeting them. No obstacle, no shut doors, no “if” or “maybe.”
And when that happened, Auntie Cady already had a bike with their name on it. Our next little Speedy Lee.
Turns out I needed that bike, too.