I stare at her. And, yes, my mother did teach me it was rude. But I cannot help it.
I stare and try to memorize every curve of her face, every line, crease, patch of rosy skin. I stare and I see nothing of myself, nothing of Husband. There is not a trace of my mouth, not a hint of his eyes. There are no discussions about the hair color that was passed down from this grandmother or the funny toenail that came from that uncle. We don't know those things.
I stare and I see nothing of myself, nothing of Husband. I see her bio dad's face and her bio mom's coloring. I see all of her ethnicities shining through. They are not ethnicities that we share with her. They are hers and hers alone.
I stare and I see everything important of mine and everything important of Husband's. I see the crinkle in her nose when Husband makes her laugh. I see her hands and feet fling with joy when I come home from work. I see the trust, the peace, the love in her eyes. I see the reflection of my absolute adoration all over her face.
I stare and I see my daughter.