Owen's imperfections: A short love story

It's morning and I'm lying on the couch with Owen, my back propped up against the end of the couch holding him up by his hands, his feet on my belly. As I pull him toward me repeatedly to kiss his chest, his belly, his forehead and the tip of his nose — all of the places that make him smile, giggle and drool — I survey his bare body, covered only by his diaper.

Owen has a freckle next to his belly button. I love this freckle. It's small but stands out against the vast whiteness of his belly. There's something about it that looks so tender and vulnerable. I cup his feet in my hands and run my fingers over his toes. In between each one I find the fluffy residue of sock fuzz. When I'm really having an OCD moment, I clean between his toes with a Q-tip after his bath. With babies, it's the crevices that get overlooked unless you're really paying attention.

I study his face and note that his right ear does stick out more than the other. I'd never noticed this until Dave's Aunt Betty pointed it out a few weeks ago at Dave's grandmother's 100th birthday party. It's the ear he tugs at when he's tired. I joked with Betty that I would be sure to have it tacked back before his 5th birthday.

As I continue to gaze at Owen's face, I notice that the pigment on his left eyelid is still a darker pink than the other one. It was more prominent when he was born, almost red. When I looked it up in a baby book they said it would fade with time. They called it a stork bite.   

On his hands he has those baby dimples above each of his fingers. Sometimes I find little scabs there. I think it's from chewing on his fists. But he doesn't have teeth yet so I'm not sure what in his soft, moist, gummy mouth could cause tiny abrasions. 

As I run my hands down his chubby legs, I see that he's got bruises and rug burns on one of his knees. I'm guessing they are the result of him flipping over on his stomach in his crib, on his play mat and on the carpet. There's just no stopping him.

The most striking thing about Owen is his hair. It's the first thing strangers remark on when they see him ("Wow, he has so much hair!") But the other day I noticed that he has bald patches on the sides of his head, right above his ears. At first I thought he was starting to lose his hair like everyone has warned me would happen. But when I flip back through his baby pictures on my iPhone photo library, it looks like he's always had those lighter patches. I guess I just never noticed.

I flip him around and study him from the back. His neck looks like a block stuck on top of his shoulders. I've often thought that the back of the neck is one of the more vulnerable parts of the body, like the underbelly of a dragon. Maybe it's because it holds up our big brains. And when you're looking at the back of someone's neck, they may not even know that you're watching them.

I run my fingers through the dark hair at the nape of Owen's neck and uncover a patch of red skin on his scalp that may be a birth mark. He has another pinkish spot higher up on his head that is smaller, about the size of a raspberry. You can only see it if you look closely.

As I take this visual inventory, these are the things I want to remember about my son. These are the things I want to think about when he is a teenager, gives me monosyllabic answers when I try to make conversation and won't let me touch him. I want to remember all the bumps and bruises, the blemishes and cowlicks — all the things that make him unique and yet like the rest of us, so very human.