We still don’t know the color of our baby’s eyes.
When he was born, I thought they would be blue. He had the mysterious gray-blue, deep-sea eyes characteristic of newborns, but there was something about his that suggested a future of blue. This prospect excited me because I’ve always dreamt of a dark-haired, blue-eyed baby. I’ve always admired the striking, unexpected beauty of that combination, which seemed so much more interesting than brown-haired, brown-eyed me.
And maybe I’m attracted to the dance of the dominant and recessive traits and the seemingly infinite combinations of people who could come from us in the passion-play of genes. Of course, no matter what forms my babies take, they will forever be dreamy to me. My brown-haired, brown-eyed firstborn is anything but uninteresting, and sometimes I look at his body–so big and so small at the same time–and the sunshine of his flesh feels almost too beautiful to behold.
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