Maybe it was because I was reading a ghost story at the time (specifically, “Spooky Little Girl” – the latest book by my dear friend, the prolific and hilarious Laurie Notaro — it’ll be out in April) or maybe it’s just because I scare easily.

But I literally jumped and squealed when I looked inside a blue plastic bag shoved in the back of a cabinet and found Sophie’s head.

When Sophie was three months old, we finally had our appointment with the geneticist, the guy who was supposed to impart all kinds of knowledge but really didn’t tell us anything Ray hadn’t already researched himself about Down syndrome.

As we were leaving his office, the geneticist pointed to the rather-flat back of Sophie’s head and warned, “You better do something about that head soon!”

Looking back, I can’t believe I listened to him. But I did. We got her one of those $5,000-not-covered-by-insurance helmets to round out her flat head. And turns out, I’ve still got the helmet — and the mold they made of Sophie’s head — to prove it.

I’m not knocking those helmets. One of my writers did a terrific story about DOC bands  – they were invented here in Arizona, and have saved many children with serious cranial deformities from expensive and dangerous surgery.

But I’m not sure Sophie really needed the helmet at all. Which is a good thing, since it didn’t do much for her. To be fair to the folks who sold it to us, she didn’t wear it constantly, as required. Poor baby Sophie quickly rubbed herself a huge “hot spot” (yes, like the kind dogs get — looked just like that) on her head, and couldn’t wear the helmet much at all.

In a way, I was flattered when the geneticist told us to fix her head — even though at the time we were days away from open-heart surgery, and clearly had bigger fish to fry. To me, it meant Sophie was worth something, that it wasn’t okay to let her walk around with a flat head.

Today, when we’re cuddling, and I feel that flat spot on the back of her skull — I don’t think you can see it at all with her hair over it, at least I don’t notice it — I wince, hating that I gave her even a moment’s discomfort with that dumb helmet.

And yet, I couldn’t just throw the thing away. Sophie was fascinating with my find — and played with the DOC band for a while. Then I shoved the mold and the helmet back in the blue bag and hid it away high in her closet. Not a bad ghost to have to confront once in a while, I figure.   

Last night, the girls and I made an impromptu trip to the bookstore to buy my friend Laurie Notaro’s new book, “The Idiot Girl and the Flaming Tantrum of Death: Reflections on Revenge, Germaphobia, and Laser Hair Removal” (info at www.laurienotaro.com).

The book had been released just that day, and I had to grab it (and three copies to give to friends) because despite (or maybe because of) her pottymouth and more-than-ascerbic tone, the secret about this NYT bestselling author is that she’s got the softest heart between here and Eugene, Oregon, where she sadly escaped a couple years ago.

I tried to explain the whole “my friend Laurie wrote this book” thing to Annabelle, who seemed a little confused and didn’t remember the time the three of us had lunch at the now-defunct soul food restaurant next to my office. (Laurie’s a big fan of chicken fried steak. Annabelle had the mac and cheese.)

My favorite story about having Sophie and telling friends is that when I told Laurie about Sophie, she took all but one mention (a really vital one, it would have ruined the essay to remove it) of the word “retard” out of her forthcoming book (not the one I bought last night, she’s written so many I’ve lost track). I love that she did it, and even more, I love that she left it in once. I would never want a good piece of writing ruined!

I wish Laurie had been with us last night.

At dinner before the bookstore, Annabelle insisted on sitting next to Sophie, across the table from me, to take care of her sister. It was practically luxurious, even when I had to reach across the table to grab Sophes — who insisted on standing up in the booth to dance.

I also had a moment of private humiliation when I started obsessively eyeing a little boy with Down syndrome, only to realize that he was, instead, part Asian. (At least, according to the membership of his booth, he was.) That I kept to myself (til this overshare — who’s the Idiot Girl???) so it didn’t upset our little dinner party.

But back to the best part: Annabelle caring for Sophie. It’s always bittersweet, as I fastforward 20 years and freak out about AB being burdened with a sister who can’t live on her own (although as Ray said recently, who knows about that) but if I stay in the moment, I beam.

The sister-love continued at the bookstore, gelato shop and even in the bathtub, when things usually melt down. For the first time ever, Sophie agreed happily to have her hair shampooed and rinsed — perhaps because there was a new stylist in the tub:  Annabelle.