Eyeball

Baby eyes are not like adult eyes. I'll get water in Lyla's eyes during a bath, and it's like she doesn't yet possess the nerve endings to be bothered by it. Little globules of water just sit there like carbonation in Coke. The other day she had an eyelash matted to her eyeball. She didn't care. She just looked around like nothing was horrifically, uncomfortably wrong.

Thank goodness. You take a creature with no hand-eye coordination, a low tolerance for discomfort, and sharp fingernails, and it's a recipe for blindness. Either that's the way God makes them, or cave people thousands of years ago who scratched themselves blind in infancy were less likely to have active sex lives as adults; thus, eyeball numbness became an evolutionary advantage.

I suppose I could research this and learn the real answer. Meh. When Lyla starts asking every question that occurs to her, I'll have to make stuff up, so this is good practice.

"Daddy, why is the sky blue?"

"Smurf paint, honey."