Emma has two freckles.
The first popped up on the back of her shoulder, a light tiny butterscotch dot. It showed about a month ago. The next one is on the outside of her right wrist, a perfect round circle in a deeper camel color. I noticed last night while we were watching TV.
“Oh you have another freckle,” I said, as I turned her arm to get a better look. She saw it, I’m sure for the first time. I knew that she was going to try to rub it off or scratch. So as her little fingers and nails began to explore the little spot I hoped she hadn’t heard the disappointment in my voice.
“Oh honey, don’t scratch it. See, it’s part of you and it’s special. It makes you unique,” maybe I recovered that fumble.
I pointed it out to Scott tonight.
“My eckle, ouchie!” she said.
“It’s not ouchie,” Scott said.
“It’s not ouchie, it makes you special!” Mommy might be trying too hard.
Of course it makes me sad to see the landscape of her perfectly unblemished skin start to gain spots. They make me wonder if I haven’t been good enough with the sun screen. They make me sad about the marching of time that my daughter is getting older and changing in ways that I can’t control. I guess this is part of watching and waiting and seeing what she will become. I can’t really control who she turns out to be, I hope that I can hold her in the palm of my hand and allow her to grow.
I remember liking my freckles when I was a kid. I would read books where protagonists would bemoan the smattering of spots across their nose and cheeks. I think I internally stomped my foot and claimed that I would like mine, because I would be darned if someone else was going to dictate how I felt about my freckles. Besides I can’t change them might as well like them, right?
I remember not thinking that my skin looked that old until I had her. Then when I held her little body in my hands and saw the contrast of my scarred and freckled skin next to her untouched skin I was surprised at how many spots I had. I must have started out like that, right? Time not only marches on but it marches all over our bodies leaving it’s footprints in the shape of scar tissue, moles, and freckles.