In Your Eyes

It's so rare that I get a picture of my little guy with a serious expression. Typically, the second that the camera is on him, he starts mugging for it, but on this particular morning, I happened to have my camera in the front seat and I caught him deep in thought at a red light on the way to school.

I love his face. I know that all mothers feel this way about their children, but seriously, there is no other face on this earth that sucks me in the way that his does. Just looking at him makes my heart feel so full and sometimes, I have no idea what to do with all of this excess love.

As I look at this picture, my eyes wander over his face and take in the slight reddish tint of his hair, the perfect bow shape of his lips and the way that his ears are exactly like my father's. But when my gaze settles, I can't help but stare at his eyes. They're like two liquid pools with thick black lashes that I get completely lost in. The most amazing thing about this is that I've been staring at these exact eyes in the mirror for 29 years.

Back in grade school, I used to hate my eyes. It always seemed like they took up my whole face and everyone was always talking about them, which is so not a good thing to a 10 year old. I remember that I disliked their shape and the fact that they were a boring brown instead of the glorious light green that both my brother and mother had. I used to guilt trip my poor mom by saying, "why couldn't you have given your eyes to me instead of Dean" and I now know without a doubt that if she could have taken them out of her head and put them in mine, she would have done so without hesitation just to make me feel better about it.

Looking at my son's eyes, at my eyes in his perfect little face, I shake my head in disbelief. How could I have ever wanted to be anything other than exactly as I was? Who knew that seeing yourself in your child would be so therapeutic. When we're out and about and a stranger says, "Your son has your eyes. They gorgeous," I take it as the biggest compliment in the world and as an afterthought, send my 10 year old self a virtual hug. If I could have spoken to her, I would have said the same thing that my mom said to me, which is the same thing that I'll say to Parker if he's ever hard on himself and it's this: Chin up kid, you're perfect just the way you are.