“My Son, oh dear God thank you for my son”

A Mother cries out upon being handed her wrinkled, newly born child. The woman lies in her hospital bed cradling her child as she weeps tears of joy. Not bothering to wipe them away, she smiles upon her son’s first cries while the air around the room fills his fresh lungs. It was a warm Spring day outside with clear skies and the grass being the healthiest it had been in months. The smell of new life had completely filled out the aroma of room.

“Look at his feet! look at his hands! look at his little tummy.”

The mother is now surrounded by a flurry of people all looking on with joy for the new relationship taking place right in front of them. Her son has calmed and looks about the room to find everyone who already loves him within the small amount of time he has existed. 

The boy’s Grandma stepped forward to observe lovingly.

“Look at his hands, my dear Grandson has his Ma’s hands.”

The Mother and Grandma joined to compare hands with their new lineage. He seemed to be looking up with a mix of wonder and confusion painted upon his face. 

The boy's Grandpa stepped forward taking in the look of his fresh Grandson. He reached for the small hands of his grandchild as the tiny fingers wrapped around his own absently.

“His lips. He has my lips, just look at them!”

The boy’s eyes were closed and they all admired him with the full power of the golden sunlight beams splayed upon his face. 

He opened his eyes once again. He looked up into his mother's eyes, blinking long and slow. 

His mother examined them and said “His eyes, his eyes are so gorgeous! Look at them.”

Once again they all moved forward to search deeply into the child's fresh, dazzling, new eyes.

“But whose are they?” replied his Grandpa.

“Not mine I suppose?” said his Grandma.

“No.” said Grandpa wIthout looking at his wife

A somber wave of realisation swept through the population of the room. This sudden feeling sent shivers down the Mother’s spine. The worst of her fears have come true as the boy's Grandparents look on with sorrow, hands trembling. Looking down at her son, she watches as his blinks have become slower and longer until finally resting his eyes to a close preparing for his first nap. For the first time his mother looked up at her own parents' faces as they stand above her. 

Overcome with exhaustion, she exclaims: 

“He has his Father's eyes.”