It's not his big blue eyes, nor his sweet baby toes. Not his soft silken skin, his impish giggle, his big puppy-paw hands and the way they touch my cheek while he eats. It's not the way his skin smells fresh from the bath, nor the way it smells when he wakes from a nap, warm with flushed cheeks.
At least not this week, it's not.
Because this week I discovered the sweetest thing about my baby boy.
It's that one perfect, sweet, sun-kissed freckle, hidden from view at the nape of his neck by the softest whisper of honey-spun blonde hair. Because this boy, through and through, is his Daddy's son. His hands, his feet, the way he laughs easily and babbles non-stop. The curve of his cheekbones, the bend of his knee, and even the soft baby snore that can sometimes be heard coming through the monitor at night. All of it belongs to his father.
But that sweet freckle placed at the very spot where his hard skull (also from his Daddy) meets the soft bend of his neck? That is mine.