So I have these two adorable boys. They look nothing like me. Nope, they don't have my eyes, my nose, my hair....you wouldn't even know they were mine. Except for two things. They have my temper, and, my crazy genes.
I sit here and watch my oldest son struggle with things that an eight year old should never have to deal with. He should worry about spaceships and best friends, catching bugs and torturing his brother, but instead he deals with not knowing why he can't stop feeling sad. He can feel that bubble of depression press against him until he is swallowed up inside. And while he can still see the outside world it becomes distorted in the swirl of emotions that glide along the skin of the bubble.
And the thing is that I can't fix it. I can put band-aids on skinned knees and hug away nightmares, but I can't fix this and I know what he is going to have to go through.
So I wish that he would have just gotten my eyes, a bit too close together, or my nose, a little too pudgy, instead of this.