Sophie turned 8 last Friday. 8. 8 years since I held her fresh, chubby newborness in my arms. She was a delightful baby-so much easier and calmer than her brother had been. Of course she cried. But mostly she did what the books said she would do-she ate, she slept, she cuddled, and, on occasion, she cried.
She was so amazingly sweet. Sweetness was new to me as a mother. Noah had been ornery-his type A personality was evident from birth-and he was constantly frustrated by his babyness. I was too. But Sophie was different.
When Sophie turned six months or so, a lightness appeared in her eyes. She had dark, dark hair and pale blue eyes. Almost everywhere we went she drew attention-her smile, and even her personality at that age, were infectious.
We moved her to Brazil when she was two. She thrived and her Portuguese put all of ours to shame in a few months.
I’m convinced she’ll always be Brazilian at heart.
In July 2010, at age 4.5, she became a big sister. For someone who had always been the darling in the family, her new role was confusing. At times she was over the moon and at other times she was challenged. Most of the time she put a smile on her face and mothered Stella just as much as I did.
I’ve often struggled with dividing my attention between the girls, but Sophie has a way of making herself known. She’s outgoing, creative, brave, and strong. She’s everything I’ve always wanted to be. I’m in awe of her confidence.
She’s everything I wished for and more than I knew I wanted in a daughter.
Happy birthday to my Sweet Sophie.