Before Archer was born I figured people were born with freckles, or
maybe it was something I never thought entirely about. Not until Archer
was born pale and unspeckled.
I've
always been fond of freckles. I think they're adorable on children and
sexy on adults. Growing up I memorized the freckled patters on my arms
and legs: the pattern that forms a little dipper on my right arm. 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.
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 Archer 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, dark
scattered specks upon his toes and fingers and scrawny 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 face-- two tiny dots appeared:
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 Archer's quirks-- the things that
make him unique. The marks and spots that appear and form, the scars.
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