I've always been fond of freckles. I think they're adorable on children and beautiful on adults. My brother has a Christmas tree on his knee (so cool) and my mom, who is a red head (so cool) just spent the last year lasering all of hers off.
I say, if you got 'em, flaunt 'em.
Growing up I memorized the freckled patters on my arms and legs: the pattern that forms a little dipper on my right arm......and all the countless triangle formations. I remember, in Kindergarten excitedly finding Cassiopeia on my left shoulder and how I was with the boy I had a crush on as we counted our freckles together under the slide......Cale was his name (so cool)......swoon!
I kept my favorite freckles a secret and when I couldn't find constellations on my skin I drew them myself. A giraffe down my stomach. A robot on my calf. Sometimes I would find a new freckle and give it a name. And every year more of them would appear, multiplying under the sun, having freckle babies in the night when my eyes were closed.
I have been waiting rather excitedly to see whether or not Grayson would become freckled, covered with constellations, speckled with little moles he might one day call "his favorite". They recently started to appear, the freckles, popping up like little mushrooms, light scattered specks upon his toes and nose and toddler knees.
The first freckle I noticed was on his toe. He was wearing sandals and then POW! It existed. Out of nowhere. Several weeks ago, it happened again, except this time on his cheeks-- two tiny dots appeared:
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Skin no longer a pure porcelain. When you're a new parent, every little thing becomes a major milestone, just like every silly scribble-drawing becomes a masterpiece. I am more in love with Grayson's quirks-- the things that make him unique. The little crooked teeth and how his fourth toe is longer than all his others...
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the marks and spots that appear and form, the scars.
Never trust a man who doesn't have a visible scar, I was once told by a very wise man I met on an airplane on my way home from Salt Lake City. I have no recollection of how or why the subject of "scars" or even "men" came up, but airplanes do funny things to strangers where unsolicited advice is concerned.
BTW, Kevin and I have the exact same scar in the exact same place over our right eyes.....we can be trusted.
Babies quickly become little boys who kick and pout and get dirty. Who cry and spit and fall in love. Who break hearts and toys and scar and wake up with new freckles.
I know that children grow fast, that every parent mourns the quickness of time, change, and the terrifying things that happen when innocence is replaced by intelligence. Doubt. Cynicism. It can be difficult to watch our babies become little people, every day more ringed like the trunks of trees, marked by life in all it's unpredictability. Little clouds changing so quickly it is almost possible to watch them grow, shift.
The man on the airplane was definitely right. One should never trust a man (or woman) who doesn't have any scars. And life moves fast and change is constant and children grow up, look different, start to recognize themselves in the mirror and in secret choose favorite freckles under the slide.
There is something very exciting about gazing across the vastness of new and stretching skin, watching as stars appear and constellations form. Overnight. On Grayson's face. Between his toes. Across his skin, like a canvas.
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A little sad, maybe. But mostly exciting. He is a red head. So cool!
