Love is Blind ...

A friend of mine recently ended a very nice Little Bug-praise-filled note to me with this line, "he is such an endearing little boy - and one of the most handsome Korean babies I know - but you know, not as handsome as mine ;)."

This had me laughing out loud because it is exactly the sort of thing I would have written to her (her little guy is exceptionally handsome, so she wasn't overly boasting there). I am often telling people (and honestly thinking it) that my kid is the cutest kid in the world. That same day a blog friend wrote a post with some very beautiful shots of her little girl and the comment that seeing those pictures made her "heart sing." I so identify with that feeling, too. Pictures of Little Bug are an obsession of mine, and sometimes I will randomly stop and browse through my web albums of him just to feel that "heart singing" feeling.

I guess it just got me thinking about the saying "love is blind." I think with parenthood, it is the opposite. Why do I truly think Little Bug is the cutest, most perfect baby in the world? Why do my friends feel the same way about their kids? Let's be honest, only one baby can truly hold the official "Most Beautiful Baby in the World" title and that baby is probably eating breakfast with Brangelina right now.

I think it is because love is not blind. Not even close.

When I look at my friend's kids, I see adorable, sweet, fun, engaging children with sweet smiles and cute haircuts and facial expressions, many of whom I care about. But, when I look at Little Bug, I see the way his left cheek just has the slightest hint of a dimple when he gives his genuine "surprised pleased" smile and the way his nose has two little rolls of skin that crinkle when he does his silly smile. I see the way his eyebrows slightly and quickly quirk up when he is anticipating something fun and the way his back arches and tightens when he is about to get really excited. I see the way his face goes slack when he gets tired and hear the change in the tone of his baby babble when he is winding down for the night. When I him sitting, I see months of tummy time and bumbo chairs and pillows and exhaustion and when I see him clap after he takes a few steps, I see pride and exhilaration and excitement in his eyes, not to mention the straightness in his little hands that has taken 2 years to develop. When he sucks his thumb, I see nights upon nights of his warm little body cuddled into my mine in his dimly lit nursery as he strokes his raggie with one finger while sucking his thumb as I rock him.

That's not being blind, that is being all-seeing. Love sees everything, and those little things that only we see are the reasons we love so "blindly." We are not blind to those we love most, but rather, we are blind to all those who we don't.

That's a good thing. This way everyone has a chance to be the most perfect person in the world…if only to just a few other people.

Like my Little Bug, who is, trust me, the most perfect baby on the planet.