Dear Sophie,
Six months ago today I thought I’d be carrying you for a few more weeks. I didn’t know you were a girl, I didn’t know your name was Sophie. I didn’t know you’d weigh 5 lbs, 9 oz, which would mean your fingers and toes would be so delicate I’d almost be afraid to touch them.
Six months ago today I underestimated the power of seemingly small achievements—latching on, three continuous hours of sleep, a smile in reaction to another one. I didn’t know that breastfeeding doesn’t always come naturally, that sleep deprivation can make you come undone, that a smile can make the most trying of days worth it.
Six months ago today I didn’t know you’d develop a personality so quickly. I didn’t know how easy it would be to make you cry or how easy it would be to make you laugh—sometimes all at the same time. I didn’t know your mood would affect me so much.
Six months ago today I didn’t know that a night filled with zerberts and dancing would be infinitely more desirable than a night out with a cocktail and dancing. I didn’t know how grateful I’d be for some alone time and I didn’t know how crazy anxious I’d be to then get you back.
Six months ago today I didn’t know how much I’d love showing you this world and I didn’t know that by watching your wide-eyed response I’d be introduced to my world all over again.
Six months ago today I wasn’t quite sure how you fall in love with someone you’ve never met.
Now, I get it.
Love,
Mom
“Grow old with me! The best is yet to be.” —Robert Browning
