Edie doesn't look like me. I mean, yeah, she's 9 weeks old, so, really, she doesn't even really look like herself - what's she's going to look like - but right now, we don't look much alike. She has this light, light skin; the kind that looks like it would sunburn easily (a trait I find to be a sign of weakness). She has light hair, red maybe, and blue eyes. She maybe has my nose, which isn't my most endearing trait to begin with.
What we do share is a similar distrust for society at large. I gather this from her often furrowed brow and dubious stare. We also both yawn - often. We sneeze occasionally and both become very, very upset when we are hungry--we both often say things we don't mean.
My point is that I don't see myself staring back when I look at Edie. Sometimes I feel this disbelieving distance - I have to remind myself that I had something to do with making her. But even that seems strange, and not quite believable. She's still new, and I'm still figuring out how she fits in my life, or how to redraw my life around her.
My point is (this one's really my point) that I love her, just that sometimes I see myself and I see her and truthfully I'm not sure what the connection is. I don't see the end from the beginning. I just see her, everyday, awake and newly lively, staring with those blue eyes and smiling and ready for me to love her.