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.)
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.
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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