My Eyes

I looked into my own eyes. I never thought I would do that. But while brushing Maria’s teeth, I saw my own eyes. Green. The same shade. The same dark ring. Neither genetic parent has green eyes.

It made me stop. I told her to look in the mirror. We looked at each other’s eyes. She agreed we had the same eyes. “I have green eyes like you, Mommy!” I don’t know how to describe the feeling. But it was certainly God-breathed.

I don’t know the exact scientific explanation of her green eyes. Maybe it’s epigenetics at work – the impact of my blood on the expression of her genes. Maybe it’s the combination of genetic parents’ hazel and blue eyes. Maybe it was a random genetic mutation. I don’t know. But I don’t think I need to know.

We get told that Grant and Maria look like “ours” often. Strangers comment. It always makes me pause. I’m learning to accept the comments. Embrace them. It used to make me uncomfortable. Like I was hiding something by letting the comment slide. But I’m learning that the comment needs no explanation or correction. Like the comment this weekend that Maria has “good hair like her mom.” My hair takes a lot more work to get that smooth, but I let the comment slide. I took it in. “Like her mom.” Me. Mine. I’m so thankful these two children are mine.

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