Sometimes I look at Wildling, and I cannot believe how amazingly terrifyingly beautiful she is. I can’t believe that two people as average as Will and myself were able to create a child of such heart-stopping beauty. Her perfect face, the shape, the angles of it, the perfect symmetry. Her big blue eyes rimmed with such thick dark lashes. Her skin, so smooth, so perfect. I cannot count how many times have strangers stopped me to comment on her perfect face, her porcelain skin, ‘like a little doll, a perfect porcelain doll’ they say. I both want and fear that she will keep this great beauty; I want her to stay beautiful because it will make her life easier, but I fear it because she is so much more than her looks and that is all people will see, all people will think of, and I want her to be more than just a pretty face.
I look at her, and I think about her scary near-perfection, and she will look at me, and smile lazily, and put a finger in her nose, pull out a booger, and eat it.
Yes, that’s my daughter.