I like faces. I particularly like these faces though. I guess I’m sorta partial to them.


A person tends to feel that way about people that she birthed. Ya know?


You tend to feel that way, no matter how much they drive you crazy sometimes, because once upon a pregnancy you dreamed what these faces looked like and you tried to imagine how that alien child that you saw on the ultrasound could possibly have been your offspring because, while big heads are a family trait, this disproportion was beyond explanation.


You feel that way about the face that made you well up with tears of amazement and awe the first time you laid eyes and lips on it and the first time its fresh scent wafted into your nostrils and permanently etched itself onto your memory.


Yeah. I like these faces.

That happens to a person after she spends countless midnight hours staring at it while nursing.


Heck… it even still happens when a person wants to pull every hair out one by one due to the craziness that is personified in a houseful of lively boys.


I think I shall like these faces no matter what happens.


No matter if they make me laugh, make me proud, make me weep, make me rejoice, make me sing, make me pray, make me angry… Yes, I shall always like these faces.


Nay. Love them.

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