Many years ago, my friend and I were pregnant with our first child at the same time.  We compared notes throughout our pregnancies, and eagerly anticipated the arrival of our little bundles of joy.  (I was due first.)

So along comes The Firstborn, and everyone agreed he was perfect.  Perfect little round head, perfect little eyes, perfect fingers and toes… you get the picture.  My husband and I stared googly-eyed at him for hours, because he was so darn cute.  Ahhh.

Then my friend’s baby arrived, and I went to the hospital to visit her.  She escorts me over to the bedside cradle beaming, and said, “Isn’t he perfect?”  I looked down at the little guy and smiled.  He was, indeed, cute… but perfect, no.  He had these little white bumps on his face, and broken capillaries on his cheeks, and his fingers were peeling.  Cute, yes.  Perfect, no.

At that moment I heard angelic harp music in my head, accompanied by visions of my baby.  “No, but my baby IS perfect,” I thought.

Then, like the needle being scratched across a record on an old Victrola, my vision stopped.  “What if my baby isn’t really perfect??  Maybe they’re all like this, and we just don’t notice it on our babies…  Oh, no.”  I kissed her goodbye, reassured her once more that her little angel was perfect, and made the mad dash home.

I raced into the house, tore back his covers and stared at him.  Sure enough, he had the same little bumps on his face and weird fingernails.  I just hadn’t noticed.  I saw him with my Mama Eyes, which made him perfect.  To me.

So thank you all for putting up with me this week, as I stare once again at my children with my Mama Eyes, overlooking their flaws, seeing only the good parts.  You’ve all been really good sports.