Sans Mustachio

I shaved my mustache, which I’ve had since before my son was born. That means he’s spent the last four months memorizing every feature of my face. He’s spent the last four months getting comfortable and familiar with me...with a mustache. And then last weekend, I up and shaved it. The next morning when he woke up, I changed his diaper while he stretching, his eyes still closed, trying to block out the morning sun streaming through the window. With him still groggy and with lids half closed, I nestled him in my arms and started to feed him. Around about the second bottle, he finally blinked awake, saw my new face, and stopped sucking the nipple still halfway in his mouth. He scrunched his brows together and stared at me for a full minute. Then he got a resigned look on his face, shrugged a little, and went right back to enjoying his bottle. I guess he figures that if I took care of his needs, it didn’t matter what I looked like. I still smell the same, feel the same, and sound the same; and beyond that, he didn’t care. Even without hair on my lip, I am still daddy.