Confessions of a Daughterless Mother

When I first looked into your eyes, I expected fireworks. I mean, how else does it feel when you meet the soul that has made you a mother for the first time? The moment was still, and quiet. There were no fireworks, just a gentle connection as our eyes met. I searched your face for familiarity ... I had worked so hard to bring you safely into this world (you hadn't made it easy) ... I was so sure I would recognize you.  Could I see your dad's soulful brown eyes? My long lashes? Did you have your great-grandpa's dimple in your chin? I couldn't recongize you as I thought I might.  The one thing I knew was that you were uniquely you, and that I was in love with you at first glance. Eighteen years later, I still search your face. I look for the glint you had in your eyes when you had a plan for mischief. I look for the mud on your cheeks from an expedition in the woods. I look for the tears in your eyes that only I can soothe. I look to see what kind of day you had,