Girl’s Life

Wow, Sophia. Four years old now and such a big kid.

Last week you turned 4 and we celebrated to the nines. Family barbecues and dinner in your favorite restaurant, lots of cupcakes and princess dress-up tea parties with your friends. It was quite a celebration for quite an amazing kid. In fact, you’re still celebrating, which doesn’t surprise me at all in a family that celebrates birthdays for a whole month!

I have to admit though, I’m a little wistful lately about the toddler you used to be — that chubby, precocious little bundle of energy and baby sign language and a crib bursting with dollies. Now you are a preschooler who goes to her very own “drop-off” school, making new friends all on your own. A preschooler who teaches your brother — while both running naked up and down the hallway, of course — how to hit the high-pitched screeches (or while in the bath or car or grocery store. Have I mentioned you guys like to make noise together? Yeah, a bit.) Now you are this smart little kid who memorizes your books so you can read them to yourself during rest time, which you tell me passionately “is NOT nap time, mommy. Just a rest!” thank you very much!

You have come so very far in one year. You’ve given up your nap. You’ve started preschool. You’ve embraced big-sisterhood and little-brother-training to the max. You write your name and blow bubbles and feed your fish and go potty by yourself (mostly) and dress up like a princess or act out the scene of your favorite movie whenever the opportunity arises. You played soccer and danced ballet. You have learned how to introduce yourself when you see a new kid your age that you think you’d like to play with. So much life lived in just four short years.

You rock my world with your new-found assertiveness and bravery. This has definitely been your year. Whereas mommy-and-me swimming lessons scared the death out of you last year, this year you jumped right in with the instructor and never looked back. New people and situations used to make you a shy ball of fear before. Now you love new environments and friends because you see it as a chance for new adventures. “Where are we going today, mama?” you asked me expectantly almost every single day this summer. And every day we’d come up with a game plan of what sorts of excursions we could go on and what kinds of adventures we could find. You love that stuff. You love to get out there and explore your world! And I love exploring it with you.

You are turning into a beautiful young girl. I know mamas have to say that, but it’s really true. This summer, we welcomed the new addition of freckles. They now cover your whole little nose and the tops of both cheeks. They’re everywhere and they are adorable. Long gone is the day when we found and named your very first little spot, Michelle the Freckle (pronounced Meeeeshell the Freck-ell, by the way, an apparently French freckle on your back).

This summer you also decided that you could part with your long lovely locks. I explained to you about the woes of chlorine and beachy wind and sand and hair-pulling ponytail holders and that basically there was not enough conditioner in the whole world to help us through those thick tangles. Thankfully, you agreed. (I didn’t mention that you were looking way too sassy and grown up with that long hair. I figured the threat of tangles would do the trick.) And so it was that as our summer adventures were just beginning you got yourself a cute little bob and cut off about 7 inches of thick hair. Whew. Bath time drama thwarted!

And now, here we are. Four years from when we brought you home on a rainy weekend in September. A couple of newbie parents terrified and confident at the same time. We have grown with you. You’ve helped us slow down on walks to enjoy treasure collecting and hurry up while eating ice cream to lick every last drip. You’ve helped us learn how to relax at night with the soon-to-be-patented Sophie technique of “just snuggle me one more minute.” It sure helps, kiddo. A couple minutes of snugly love from you and all my worries are forgotten. And most importantly, you’ve helped us to see the world with fresh, hopeful eyes — the thrill of fireworks and new library books and learning to spell R-E-D and getting to hold a new baby.

I am blessed to know you, baby girl. And however much you fight me when I call you that — “I’m NOT a baby anymore. I AM A BIG KID!” — I keep telling you that you’ll always, always be my baby girl. And it’s true. No matter where you go or who you become, you’ve got a mama who remembers that first little baby in her arms all those years ago and marvels at the beautiful big kid you have become.