A while back, I was having dinner at a downtown Phoenix restaurant with two of my best girlfriends. Someone who knew someone at the table stopped to say hi.

“Hey, what’s with the book club?” he asked, laughing.

We looked at each other. It took us a minute — he was making fun of the fact that all three of us were wearing glasses.

I rarely think about my glasses. I’ve worn them full time since — geez, I’m not sure how long. A really long time. I am terrified of contacts. Why would you voluntarily stick something in your eye?

And frankly, once you hit a certain age, a pair of glasses can hide a multitude of sins (or, at least, a few wrinkles, at least that’s what I tell myself — and my  mom recently admitted she still wears her glasses even though she doesn’t really need them, for the same reason).

Plus, I love my glasses. Not long ago, I invested in a funky pair by Betsey Johnson, after falling for the ones my friend Laurie was wearing. I love ‘em.

So does Sophie. Sophie has begged for glasses for years, and not long ago it became obvious that she really needs them. Armed with a prescription and a false start at LensCrafters (I don’t recommend taking your special needs kid there) we headed across town to my optometrist.

Sophie chose a pair of wire frames in a blue-purple hue. No Betsey Johnsons for her; Sophie’s are made by (seriously) Barbie. The frames are perfectly nice, very plain.

Here’s where I make my ugly admission: As soon as she put them on, my heart sank.

I often wonder if we are hard-wired to find our own children the most gorgeous, breath-taking creatures on the planet. That’s how I feel about mine — isn’t it how you feel about yours? I could (and do) stare at Annabelle and Sophie for hours, taking in the soft skin, the perfectly shaped calves, the sweet smiles. Marveling that I created such beauty.

Shallow, but true.

So please, universe, don’t stick some crappy, Barbie brand wire-framed glasses on one of those faces. I know you’ll tell me that Sophie looks absolutely adorable in the glasses. But to me, not so much.

Maybe it’s because when I was 4, my mother let me pick out my first pair of glasses and I managed (with the help of a shag haircut that was not my idea) to transform myself into a hideous beast in octagonal green and brown tortoiseshell. (It was a long journey from that stage to the dinner table with bespectacled friends stage.) Maybe it’s because five minutes after Sophie put them on, the glasses were already cockeyed and smudged. Maybe it’s because it’s a pain in the ass to keep glasses on a kid, particularly this kid.

Maybe it’s because when I look at Sophie in those glasses, I see just another kid with Down syndrome rather than my own amazing, unique daughter.

Maybe I’m a terrible, shallow person. But I’m not so terrible that I don’t recognize that my kid can’t see very well. So we got Sophie the glasses, and a special case, and a lot of instructions about how to take care of her new prized possession.

The glasses lasted an entire day and a half before she lost them. So today I’ll call the optometrist and order a new pair. For the next few days, at least, I’ll have my Sophie back.

And some time to adjust my attitude.

I knew Sophie would not be disappointed to learn she needed glasses. But I was a little surprised when Annabelle asked, plaintively, “Can I have some glasses, too?”

She’s not having trouble seeing. She’s just a slave to her own particular brand of fashion — inspired in part, she acknowledged, by Harriet the Spy. Turns out she’s not alone; Claire’s (the accessory store of choice for the tween and pre-tween set) actually stocks non-prescription glasses. Since we have not had luck yet, finding Sophie the real thing, we headed to the mall tonight. The girls picked out matching pairs.

Both are thrilled. “I can see better!” Sophie announced at dinner. I don’t know about that, but I’m hoping this $7.50 investment will help teach her over the next few days how to take care of glasses, which you can’t toss around like, say, an iPad.

I’m on a quest to find just the right glasses, after a multi-pronged disaster at Lenscrafters. Cate suggested the glasses made just for kids with Down syndrome. I’m thinking about it, but the selection is so narrow. Not much personality. I suppose fit trumps fashion in this case, but still. I have to admit that I hate for Sophie to look like all the other kids with Down syndrome in their standard-issue glasses. (And standard-issue haircut, which she also has. At least you seldom see anyone — particularly a person with Down syndrome — sporting a purple sundress with white duct tape polka dots stuck on in February.)

Annabelle eyed the turkey sandwich on her plate and asked, “Can I have just a tomato sandwich in my lunch sometime, like Harriet?”

Absolutely. That is the kind of nerdiness I can embrace.