No sooner had I posted that last entry, than Sophie appeared at the kitchen door.

“I throwed up on Piglet.”

And the couch. And — well, we’ll leave it at that. I got her settled in the bathtub, entered negotiations with Ray about who would stay home (I either won or lost, depending on your perspective) and sat down on the toilet (seat closed) to check email on the iPhone.

There was one from Maya. “Seasons of Love? Really? Amy, are we the SAME person?”

She loves the song as much as I do. I had a feeling. Maya and I have a lot in common, and not just the fact that we each have kids with Down syndrome (Leo is 4 and a half). Same grad school, same religion, same tastes in pop culture. She works in Manhattan, which, damnit, I always meant to do. Most important: We have the same fears and hopes and love, as the mothers of Leo and Ellie, Sophie and Annabelle.

I’ve met other moms of kids with Down syndrome, moms who seem like truly great people, moms I’d like to be friends with, but none I have more in common with — and if you don’t think a mutual love of a cheesy Broadway musical song is an important component for lasting friendship, you’ve never had one — than Maya.

Technically, Maya and I have never met. Only through our blogs. I was going to wait til I knew how to do a link to write about her, and I was going to make the link to her blog — www.everythingforareason-moon.blogspot.com — my first real link — but what the heck. Sophie’s home barfing; no time like the present.

“Mama, why are you laughing?” Sophie asked, looking up at me from the tub, as I cracked up over Maya’s email. “My friend likes the same song I do!” I told her. “I’ll play it for you.”

So I did. Sophie loved “Seasons of Love,” too. We watched the video four times and she didn’t even puke on my laptop.