When Quinn was just a newborn, we brought her out to my parent’s cabin in Lake Chelan. One day, we went to visit a neighbor (and dear family friend) who was having a terrible week: His mother, who lived across the country, was dying, and he was getting painful hourly updates from family members at her bedside.

None of us knew exactly what to say, but we slogged along anyway. At some point in the conversation, he reached out for Quinn. Much to our amazement, she rested happily in his arms for the next hour, cooing and mumbling at him. The two of them were in their own little world. This was the best way he could have spent that time, under the healing gaze of a happy baby who seemed to know she was needed.

From some of the baby books I had read, I got the impression that newborns would be sloth-like and without much expression. But while Quinn was needy and helpless in so many ways, her innate humanity really amazed me. In her earliest days, I saw empathy, humor and understanding alongside hunger, tiredness and need.

She amazed me again this last week in Colorado, where she spent much of the week with her 91-year-old great grandmother who lives in Michigan and hadn’t seen Quinn in a year. Every time they were together, Quinn just focused in on her great-grandma, giving her kisses and hugs, bringing her toys and stuffed animals to hold, and even saying her name over and over.

I know this was a magical time for Doris, who lives in a retirement home and sometimes feels isolated and sad (like many of us will in our twilight years). It was magical for me to see my busy toddler so focused on giving, on sharing, even on just sitting for a few minutes. Q seemed aware of the gift she was giving, and happy she could give it.

As a parent, you get to glimpse all that we humans are in our basest form, and marvel at the innate goodness you see. My greatest wish is to help Quinn hold on to that kindness for her lifetime.