A Bit Lost (But Always Found)
This story goes back... way back. To July 1988, when I was still just a little bean in my mother’s belly.
It must’ve been a cool winter morning in São Paulo. I imagine my mom glowing with a full, round belly and her unmistakable luminous smile. Maybe she spent the day at home, honoring her body as a temple—savoring the quiet rhythm of being surrounded by her space, her family, and her thoughts.
My sister Ana, still a toddler then, was probably bouncing around the apartment in her mischievous way—a little blue-eyed blondie who could get away with almost anything by sheer force of cuteness. I picture her clambering into bed beside my mom (if she wasn’t already tucked in there), showering her with kisses and “happy birthdays” long before 9 a.m.
And me—floating inside, not yet born, but very much alive.
Maybe I knew it was a special day.
Maybe I felt the vibrations of joy, of celebration, of cake being sliced.
Maybe I already recognized the sound of my sister’s voice, the softness of kisses, the sweetness of chocolate...
Two days later, on July 28th, I arrived. 9:00 a.m. sharp.
I believe those earliest moments of life linger within us. That the abundance of care, devotion, respect, and warm loveoffered in our beginning becomes part of who we are.
My mother—Denise—is a fountain of energy. A wellspring that never runs dry, even when life gets complicated. Her joy is resilient, and her love divides with ease between her three daughters, never losing strength.
She gave us the courage to face the world, to laugh out loud, to play without fear. And these are the gifts I see reflected now as I raise Georgia.
Lately, I’ve been watching Georgia try to imitate me. The slow blinking, the exaggerated mouth movements, the little sounds she repeats. And it hits me: this “game” of imitation is how we learn to be.
It’s how we learn to trust.
To hug. To speak. To rise up after falling.
To fold the laundry. To bake incredible brownies.
To celebrate. To cry.
To nurture.
To dream.
These gestures shape the ground beneath our feet—and prepare the soil for our own tree of life.
One of my mom’s first book gifts to Georgia is the quietly wonderful A Bit Lost by Irish author and illustrator Chris Haughton.
In it, a baby owl falls from her nest and can’t find her mother. With the help of a kind squirrel, she sets off in search of her—but the descriptions she gives (“Big eyes! Pointy ears!”) lead to some pretty amusing misidentifications first. Eventually, of course, they’re reunited.
It’s a simple story, but full of heart. It gently reminds us how deeply we feel the absence of what we love—and how much comfort comes in the moment of return.
The illustrations are bold and expressive, combining hand-drawn and digital techniques. The forest glows in rich blues, pinks, and greens, while the characters are full of emotion and empathy.
You can peek behind the scenes at this post by Chris Haughton on the making of A Bit Lost.
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Book: A Bit Lost
Words & Pictures by: Chris Haughton
Published: 2010, Walker Books
What it’s about: A baby owl falls out of the nest and searches for mom—with the help of a well-meaning squirrel and some funny missteps along the way.
Themes: Growth, Empathy, Humor
Recommended Ages: 2–5
