Seeing the way your face changes, loses its newborn wrinkled alien-ness. The way your eyes lose their puffiness, how your nose stretches out. Your cheeks filling out, fattening up. Your face smiling, first involuntary, then on purpose, at all the delight in the world.
Your face at six months, seven months, taking on its new shape. Theorizing which features come from me, which come from our donor, joking which ones come, impossibly, from your mother.
Your face at one, snaggle-toothed, awkward. Watching it resolve into itself, your mouth forming words, opinions, wants. Your determined look as you put your head down, ball up your fists, and run that blind, head-first little-boy run.
Your face at three, four, five years old. Counting freckles. Searching for dimples.
Your face lengthening in adolescence, a darkening upper lip, the first hairs of a beard perhaps. Watching you rub your chin proudly.
Your face as an adult. Seeing who you become. Looking backwards at baby pictures to find the face of who you were always waiting to be.
© Burning Eye