Sophie will be eighteen years old this Friday, March 8th, and I think in anticipation of this momentous birthday, I will reflect a bit -- but only a bit. I casually took her baby book off the shelf in the hallway and opened it up, flipped through the pages that I had so carefully written and where I had stored so many mementos. I pulled out the above piece of graph paper with The Husband's careful script, the names we talked about lined up like birds on a line. We didn't know if we were having a boy or a girl. We wanted to be surprised.
There is Sophie, tucked in next to last, a tiny smudged dot next to six delicate letters, about to unfold.
