Lost Letters: 1

Dear Child,

Welcome to the world! Sorry if this letter is late or premature -- or if you were, since preemies run through my pieces of your genetic jigsaw puzzle.

Willem, your incubator, is hiding from me and won't talk to me, so the exact date of your birth was/is/will be a bit of a mystery. Fortunately, money is the world's greatest detective. Money can find you under rocks, it can locate you in the dank hole of a cave, zero in on you in a crowd. And I have money. She can bury you in small town Central Illinois (or so rumor has it), but money can dig you up. It may be slow -- you may be as much as a month old, your eyes open for 30 days and closed for 30 nights before I know for sure you've arrived, but before your 31st morning breaks, I'll know your name.

This morning I posted your mother a dragonfly to celebrate your birth. There's nothing special about it -- nothing valuable -- but it's wee and fragile like you, and it'll freak your mother out.

I'll write again soon. Breathe deeply, if you're out here with us. But if you're still in there, I'll give you 20 quid to kick her in the spleen.

Love from your
Dad