Dear Sophie,
You are growing so fast - you're almost a year and a half old and I can hardly believe it.  It seems like it wasn't that long ago that you were a little one that I had to carry all over as we tried to keep up with Martin.  Now you are the same age that Martin was when I was pregnant with you.  Looking back, I'm not really sure how I did it.

You can walk and run and like to try to wrestle with Martin.  You try to repeat everything you hear, although I'm still acting as primary interpreter until others can recognize your words.  You have the most beautiful smile and you love to give kisses.  To me, to daddy, to Martin, to your baby (whom you've named "Bay"), and to your feet.  You love to sit on my bed and lounge on my pillow while I fold laundry.


You love music and start to boogie in your chair or move your feet whenever you hear any, even in commercials.


You like to get ready with me in the morning, putting lotion on your face and brushing your hair.  I'm hoping that you'll be a girl like I am - some makeup and hair that's not too elaborate because that's about as girly as I get.  If you turn out to be a more girly girl, we'll consult the experts - like Sevda, Meghan, Megan and your Aunt Carrie.  They all probably still read InStyle and will be able to point us in the right direction.


Your new hairdo looks so cute when it stays in place, but when it comes out and you swirl your hair on your pillow in your sleep, it turns into a cyclone.


Or, maybe this style is partially hereditary because your Grandma Jane seems to have the same upwardly mobile look.


You are an absolute joy.  Except when you throw a temper tantrum, which if it is any indication of the kind of girl you're going to become, you will be a force to be reckoned with in a catfight.  Let's hope that passes.

Love,
Momma