But in light of the fact that I'm nowhere near that point yet (and because I'm creating reasons to avoid cleaning the bathrooms), I wanted to take a moment to declare:
Sophie ate like a champion today. She ate. And ate. And ate and ate.
She ate pancakes for breakfast, a plate of macaroni and an orange for lunch (followed by a second plate of macaroni about an hour later), a half of a sandwich at lunch, plus a huge dinner. She drank her milk and juice. Happy as a little peach.
And before bed, she asked for a snack.
Yoo hoo, everybody listening? This is SOPHIE I'm talking about.
I wonder when something stops feeling like a miracle, and starts feeling normal.
Days like today make me start to envision other normal things. Like going to the doctor's office and not pausing when he inquires about her eating habits or asks appetite related questions. Just answering, without thinking about her nutty history and stutter-stumbling over how the heck to explain it.
I can hear it in my head: "Aw, (pshaw) doc, it's good. Normal."
I swear every time we have a day like this, I wonder where I was when the alien swooped down and beamed my child up to the Mother Ship - leaving only her curly-headed shell behind.
I watch her. Chewing and swallowing. Saying she's hungry. Asking for more. And I just stare - in total disbelief. Thinking, "Who is this child?"
Then she runs into the office, announcing she has "something neat!" to show me. Which turns out to be this:
And she effectively clears up any confusion about who she's become.
Yep. That's a crayon. Crammed as high as it will go up her nose.
I breathe a huge sigh of relief and know instantly, without question. Of course, it's my Sophie.