Thursday, December 13, 2012

Happy Fourth Birthday Sophia

Four years ago it was raining. Ominously so.

And I was preparing for It: birth.

Nikos' birth had been fifteen hours of stress and exhaustion: for Ruth, and (less so) for me. And then he barely slept for eighteen months (while I was writing Distraction.)

But the morning of Sophia's birth was calm. Ruth woke me, whispering gently. "It's time." We drove to the hospital--nearly dying as a driver ran a red light--and Sophia was with us less than two hours later. (I wrote about it here.)

Sophia Violet was very sure of herself. She cried little. She gazed sternly, with a touch of puzzlement. She breastfed, and slept in her bassinet, like she'd been doing both for years.

With independence has come a little more doubt and worry--the anxiety that comes with an increasing distance between oneself and one's protective others. Sophia now knows hesitation and regret.

But she is, at heart, very much the same child: resolute, outspoken and uncannily keen of mind.

Her handwriting and drawing are precise. Her reading equally so. And somehow this all combines effortlessly with My Little Pony dialogue and desperate care for the various combinations of tops, skirts and shoes.

It all matters to Sophia.

Happy birthday, my girl. And thank you for four years of amazement and amusement.

UPDATE: It has since started storming, as it did the day of Sophia's birth. Very LA Story, Melbourne. Love your work.

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