December 2010

Sofia

 

I'm working on editing and filing some photos. I came across these photos taken in December 2010 when you were just one year old. They were taken at Boreen Point. You were already growing out of the roly poly baby stage. Your eyes were still changing colour.

 

I love stumbling across these photos. I remember the pink seersucker hat you were wearing and the feel of your swimming nappies. I remember the smell of you at that age. Most of all, as I look back at the younger you I can see some of what you are about to morph into - the bubbly, sometimes giggly and cheeky, often sweet and always sincere 3 year old girl who now wears a different hat, no longer needs the nappies and has eyes of luscious brown (despite what it says on your recently renewed Italian passport - but that's another story).

Reflections

Sofia

 

It's hard to believe that this time three years ago you were just one month old. We lived in a villa apartment close to a thriving suburban high street.

You and I had both come to terms with the process of breast feeding. Both natural and foreign, I loved the forced rhythm of taking the space and time to nourish you. Some people refer to the "demands" of breast feeding but I always quietly enjoyed the guilt free reason to just stop and be with my newborn.

I also loved the way your daddy would join us for the early morning feeds, sitting on the sofa watching his wife and daughter. I sometimes suggested he go back to bed, sleep at 3am being a luxury at that time. He always refused, never wanting to miss sharing the experience of feeding you and motivated by his Neapolitan upbringing to keep me company. His companionship was a nightly reminder of his commitment and love.

I watched you at the dinner table tonight. Using your fork to drum on the table. Purposely dropping your spoon on the floor with an exaggerated "uh oh, oh goodness", scrambling to get off the chair. Sticking your hand in your cup to play with the last of the milk, knowingly watching my stern expression of warning. After several warnings and yet another cheeky act I lost my patience and sent you to sit on your bed for two minutes.

We're trying to teach you table manners. But I also want you to know how to behave at mealtime so we can all enjoy the pleasure of eating together. Sometimes I forget that you are still only three and that it's your job to push these boundaries. You are of course still learning what is expected and etiquette is certainly not a concept you should grasp no matter how much of a "Prin-thess" you are.

Instead of asking you to apologise to me before you returned to the table to finish your meal perhaps I should have also have said I was sorry for expecting you to behave like an adult. It has after all only been three years since you were completely dependant on my breasts for every meal.