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I looked down into her little pink face. Such a fragile thing. My fragile thing.
It's hard to tell what she looks like. She's so new, barely a few hours old. What will she look like when she's older?
I can tell she has her father's nose--thank goodness. But where did she get those blue eyes? Mine are green, and her father's are brown. Genetics is such a mystery.
My mind wanders as I listen to her gentle breathing. What kind of girl will she be? Will she be like me, living with a reckless abandon that brings scraped knees and scratched up ankles? Will she love to stay inside and wear my clothes all too soon? Will she be the heart breaker, or the heartbroken? Will she stay up too late or fall asleep early? Will she eat dessert or dinner first? Will she make the rules, or break them?
What will she be like?
Of course, it's too early to tell.
Her hair is deep red, the beautiful color I'd always wanted mine to be.
What a small miracle.
My small miracle.
--4.3.18
It's hard to tell what she looks like. She's so new, barely a few hours old. What will she look like when she's older?
I can tell she has her father's nose--thank goodness. But where did she get those blue eyes? Mine are green, and her father's are brown. Genetics is such a mystery.
My mind wanders as I listen to her gentle breathing. What kind of girl will she be? Will she be like me, living with a reckless abandon that brings scraped knees and scratched up ankles? Will she love to stay inside and wear my clothes all too soon? Will she be the heart breaker, or the heartbroken? Will she stay up too late or fall asleep early? Will she eat dessert or dinner first? Will she make the rules, or break them?
What will she be like?
Of course, it's too early to tell.
Her hair is deep red, the beautiful color I'd always wanted mine to be.
What a small miracle.
My small miracle.
--4.3.18
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