Forty-four days ago, Ezra was little more than a wiggling mass inside Sarah’s belly. We had no pictures of him, other than a couple of skeletal sonograms. He had an identity, but he had no physical form. Then, suddenly, he did. One second he was a squishy mound of hair, the next he had a face, and in that instant, the blank space in my mental picture of him suddenly was filled.
Now we look at his face and we’re struck by the bizarre thought that there was ever a time when we didn’t know what he looked like. Or, more to the point, we knew him, he took up physical space, he was in our presence daily, but despite all that, we didn’t know his face. What did we think he looked like? I cannot remember if we even speculated. I certainly can’t remember my answer if we did.
I look at him now and I can’t imagine him being anything else. But, of course, he could have been. He is the statistically unlikely product of a meeting between two random particles — one egg earlier or one sperm later and he could have a completely different set of features. I know that’s a meaningless game to play — as unlikely as it is, it would have to be one pair or another — but it still tweaks my brain to imagine that Ezra could be anything but the boy we stare at every day. Of course this is what Ezra looks like. Who else would he be?