Donor.

Driving down the wide empty lanes on Route 295 in Rhode Island the other day, I caught a glimpse of The Who napping in his carseat, his sweet pouty lips slightly apart as he snoozed and I smiled. My handsome boy.

Last night, a friend I have known since 7th grade said to The Who, “Oh, your mother could never deny you. You look just like her!” And when The Who was an infant, our pediatrician asked me if I was sure I wasn’t my own donor since the baby and I looked so similar. It is true that The Who possesses a lot of my family’s physical features: the great round cheeks, the crinkling smiling eyes. But those lips — they’re not from me.

I think about The Who’s donor sometimes. I remember the description of his “full, red lips” on the donor profile and I wonder what kind of man he is. What his voice sounds like. I wonder if he had blond hair and blue eyes as a baby and what he looks like when he’s sleeping. But mostly what I think about is my profound gratitude. I wish I could talk to him. Or somehow let him know about this amazing child that he helped us make. I just want to say thank you.

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