Yesterday a piece I did about Sophie and her BFF (aka “B”) Sarah aired on our local NPR station. I had meant it for Valentine’s Day, but Arizona statehood day happens to fall on February 14, so the BFFs were bumped for a few days.

Here they are.

Our trip to New York City was full of high points, but I have to say that the best moment came when Sophie met Leo.

I walked into a busy restaurant, looked around, and suddenly, this little boy I’ve been reading about almost every day for months leapt off the computer screen and into real life, before my eyes.

Sophie ran right up to him for a hug. (Contrary to popular misconceptions about people with Down syndrome, she doesn’t do that with everyone.)

I felt the tears well up even before I could take my coat off.

I need to back up. This will sound horrible, but there’s no way of saying it without just saying it (and somehow, reader, I bet you’ll relate).

I’m not a Support Group Kinda Girl. Not that there’s anything wrong with support groups. In fact, there’s a lot of good — and I know I’m missing out by avoiding the two (I might add warring — I do love that part — at least they were warring at one point not long ago) Down syndrome support groups in Phoenix.

I know. I know I know I know I know. But that whole thing’s just not for me. Maybe it’s because I live where I was born. I am incredibly blessed with family and friends and all sorts of resources (like a kindergarten teacher who continues to look out for Sophie even now that she’s in first grade, and plays a mean game of poker in her off time) to help us navigate all sorts of situations.

Even so, I didn’t realize something was missing — til I found it. The thing is, just because you have something in common with someone (say you’re both journalists, or both Jewish, or both obsessed with rick rack and vintage toys and certain kid books/movies/music, or both think way too much about things like where you live, or both have kids with Down syndrome), that doesn’t mean you’ll wind up friends.

Now, if you have all of those things in common and more, yeah, then it might happen.

That’s Maya.

I’ve written about Maya before, including on the occasion of a trip I took to New York last summer, when I got to meet her. (In person, that is — rather than on her blog. We had lunch by her office on a work day, hence no Leo.)

And I’ve said this before, but in honor of meeting Leo (and the fact that his parents schlepped him and his 2 and a half year old sister from New Jersey on a truly horrible day to meet us) I need to say again that starting a blog was a Really Important Thing for me not only because it gave me the ability to go on (and on and on — and on) about Sophie, but because it led me to some pretty terrific people. My (frankly) arm’s length suport group, including Robert Polk (who lives in Texas and has an adult son, Ryan, with DS, and goes by Bobby but will forever be RobertPolk to me) and Joyce and Sarah, and Cate and Starrlife.

And Maya.

Technically, Sophie’s an older woman (she’s got almost a year on Leo) but he towers over her, and we all thought they made a lovely couple. They ate scrambled eggs, french fries and ice cream, colored, and played with Leo’s sister Ellie. Sophie showed off her new life-like “Fur Real” guinea pig, which I think is really gross but Leo and Ellie appreciated. (Ray and Annabelle were at The Met with his aunt; I was concerned about another foot-through-the $180 million-Picasso incident with Sophie, so it was a good time to split up.)

We had a wonderful brunch and hung out at a bookstore and when Sophie and I said goodbye and settled into a cab, the song “Goodbye Girl” was playing and I had another cry — an I Heart New York But I Don’t Live Here cry, thinking about that movie, which is one of the movies that made me fall in love with New York when I was a kid — and I thought, I bet this song makes Maya cry, too.

Saturday afternoon, I took the girls to a birthday party. It was lovely, very casual, and somewhat unstructured — a park, some hot dogs, a couple of crafts, good weather. The kids dispersed and mainly did their own thing. I tried to hold back from my typical hovering mode, and watched Sophie wander, trying to find her way.

No one else noticed, I’m guessing, but from my perspective it wasn’t good. Sophie was passive — head down, not talking, just sort of aimless and not really connecting with anyone – til finally she latched onto the dad of one of the party guests and had a grand time chatting with him until it was time to leave.

That was not out of the ordinary; I’ve grown accustomed to such birthday party behavior. But what happened next is new, and it’s thrown me for a loop. It’s made me think about the birthday party behavior in a new way.

Later that afternoon, I dropped Sophie at her BFF Sarah’s house for yet another playdate. These playdates have been extraordinarily successful! And I’m cautiously hopefully that they are not just pity parties; I think Sarah enjoys them as well.

But as we pulled away from Sarah’s house, I noticed a pattern has emerged. She doesn’t want the playdate to end. That manifests itself pretty normally — she and Sarah both argue, stall, beg. But once Sophie’s in the car, something happens that I haven’t seen.

She begins to sob. I don’t mean cry or whine or complain. I mean full-on, gut-wrenching My Heart is Broken and I May Never Recover sobbing.

This continues for the short drive home, and for some time after that. The reminder of future playdates helps, but not entirely. I hate seeing her so upset, but at the same time, my heart swells, knowing how much joy those times with Sarah bring to Sophie, particularly when they come with the freedom and novelty of playing at a friend’s house without mom.

It’s as though it’s so awesome, she can’t contain her emotions. She blows a fuse.

I wish we could hit a happy medium, where — like Annabelle  — Sophie hops out of the car at a birthday party, huddles with a group of friends, then leaves the party a little whiny but otherwise no worse for the wear.

That, like so many things, is clearly not to be. Not for now, anyway. And frankly, it leaves me weirded out. The short stature, the hole in the heart, the difficulty with handwriting — okay, I get it, those are results of that 21st chromosome.

But the more ephemeral stuff, like emotional thermostats? Weird. That’s the best way I can put it. Weird.

And there’s no handyman — or even a doctor — to call to fix it.

We ended the year the best way I can imagine — with a playdate.

Not just any playdate, but Sophie’s very first bonafide Mom-drops-you-off-and-you-stay-by-yourself-at-your-friend’s-house playdate.

I approached it with my typical trepidation. Sarah had come to our house several times, and we’d been to her house — together — for the first time just the day before. Sarah’s mom has three older children, so I’m sure she thinks I’m nuts, but kindly didn’t say so. When the girls didn’t want to part on Wednesday afternoon, she suggested another playdate the next day. Solo.

Sophie was so excited. She wouldn’t let me walk her to the door, so I parked, got her out of her car seat, then stood in the lawn and watched her march to the front door, knock loudly (for her) and wait, alternately grinning hugely and striking a casual, I-do-this-every-day pose. Sarah and her mom came to the door, we spoke from my lawn perch, and the three disappeared into the house.

When I returned a couple hours later, Sarah and Sophie were in the front yard with Sarah’s dad. They’d had a treasure hunt (resulting in the gift of a stuffed dog for each girl!), gone for a ride in the wagon and probably ripped Sarah’s room apart in fine playdate fashion. Sophie was even wearing one of Sarah’s jackets.

I have lots of good (and some sad) memories from 2009, but one of my favorites will always be of Sophie and her best friend Sarah, blowing New Year horns in Sarah’s front yard.

May 2010 hold lots of fun playdates for you and  yours!