M is one of those friends whom I foisted on Sophie. The first four or five times they played together, Sophie just hung back, intimidated. M is only a month older, but she’s got a joyous energy, incredible verbal felicity, and an awesome mom. You can see M’s mom reflected in the background of that photo, and that glimpse is probably enough for you to understand why I kept hanging out with her, blatantly ignoring the fact that our daughters didn’t yet get along.
I like M’s mom. And let’s face it: at this point, playdates are more about me than about Sophie. It’s kind of selfish of me, I guess, to be imposing my friendships on Sophie — but, as M’s mom says, we want to encourage our kids to be friends with people we trust, so that when our kids are nine years old and going on sleep-overs, we won’t be worrying too much. I wasn’t actually planning that far ahead. I just like talking to M’s mom now.
Finally, this weekend, Sophie started to share my taste in friends. She and M chased each other in toy cars, blew bubbles at each other, ignored the pancakes and bacon and fruit salad together, clambered all over our patio, dashed through the toy tunnel, and managed to postpone naptime by clearly having such a thrilling time. Sophie doesn’t say many other kids’ names, but she said M’s name.