There's something I haven't told many people before.
An hour after my beautiful daughter was born, I held her and cried about the scratches on her face. She was born sunny-side up, so her sweet little cheeks had gotten caught on my pelvic bone, causing lots of bruising on her face and bleeding scratches around her eyes. Somehow, even though I couldn't have controlled what happened, I felt responsible for hurting her during her first few moments in the world. It was my fault.
Her precious little face was so pitiful. It hurt me.
Jesse had to remind me for weeks that it wasn't my fault. Even though I knew there was nothing that I could have done for her, I still felt bad that *I* caused her that pain.
But you know what? Today, I'm so thankful for those scratches.
Those bleeding scratches that turned into little scabs that turned into tiny pink marks that I can still find in just the right light...they prove to me that she is my daughter. She came from me.
Each of us has things that make us truly unique, and I love the sweet little things that make my daughter one of a kind. Maybe, someday, she'll find those little pink marks around her eyes when she's studying her mascara. Maybe a friend will point them out.
You know what I'll tell her? Those marks are part of her story. They tell where she came from.
And what a beautiful story that is.