Sofia Patricia

My first love.  (At least, the first one I didn't grow to regret.)  Sofia Patricia.

She's named for the two grandmothers who got her parents through their childhoods.  Sofia Romero, the woman who took her papi in when his father abandoned him in Mexico.  And, Patricia Batenic, the woman who practically raised her mama until she was nine.  Two strong women who's strength lives on in my first born.

This week, Sofia turns ten years old.  I swear just last week I was cutting up her food for her and now she's months away from middle school.  When they say time flies, they're talking about what happens between the birth of your first child and the day you realize they're not a baby anymore.

Sofia has lost all signs that she was ever my baby.  She's got a grown girl's face (and an attitude to match).  She's a smart kid with a definite artistic side.  And, as much as it drives me crazy, she will soon be completely "over" me.  She already spends quite a bit of time in her room with the door closed.  And, soon she'll hit the phase where the door will slam every few minutes - not looking forward to that.  We struggle a lot with our relationship.  It's hard learning how to deal with a pre-teen attitude when you became so used to the angel she was as a little kid.  But she's a good kid, and I know that.

In the blink of an eye, this child came from my womb and shot to the "double digits".  I want to freeze her where she is as much as I want to watch her grow into the amazing person she's becoming. 

Sofia Patricia was and will always be the first person I ever loved with my entire being.  And, she will always remain the person who taught me that love doesn't hurt - beyond those first 38 hours of labor.