My son’s eyes changed from their newborn blue well before his first birthday. They deepened to brown, like bittersweet chocolate. Brown, like black coffee and molasses. He asks me questions I would never think to ask, let alone know how to answer: Where do tornadoes go when they stop being tornadoes? If you can’t drive to Heaven, how does God take us there? What’s above outer space? I hold his curious gaze and think I must be staring into the center of the earth.

His eyes are deep and dark, like obsidian formed after a volcanic eruption. No, I won’t! I’m going to bite you! Molten tears flow down his face.  Come in here, Mommy. Help me calm down. Eyes like igneous glass plead with me, trusting that I am big enough to envelop him, strong enough to slow his raging passion with the cool breath of my voice.

His brown eyes are what I expected to come from my green eyes and my husband’s brown ones. They also hold more than I could have ever imagined.

My daughter is just past her first birthday, with irises still as blue as the summer sky. When she laughs, her nose crinkles with delight and her eyes sparkle like the ocean under a sunrise. I see her will as strong as the tide as she learns to walk, to climb, and to use her voice. Her eyes are the color of familiar denim, and carefree like blue jeans in a field of wildflowers. She makes silly faces and giggles. She squeals and rolls on the floor, kicking her wild legs at nothing in particular. Other times, her gaze is deep and still, like the sky just after sunset. She observes the wonders of existence and holds them, the way twilight holds stars above the horizon.

She finishes nursing and looks up at me with her wide eyes. I’m still captivated by their unexpected hue.

I snuggle my little girl close to me, rocking for a few minutes before bedtime, savoring her soft face against mine. Soon her blue eyes, and my son’s brown ones, will close for the night. I feel the gravity of responsibility as if I hold an entire planet in my arms.

Who am I to bring knowledge to the center of the earth? Who am I to forge something beautiful from molten rock? Who am I to tame the sky?

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This was originally written as a piece of short creative nonfiction during the Exhale Micro-Essay Workshop.