In his eyes, I see brown and orange, small flecks of gold. My firstborn son, the baby I never knew I needed. I have to look up to see them now, craning my neck to meet his gaze; he towers over me by 10 inches. Not long ago he was small, and not long before that, he was a baby, but his eyes were the same, even then. When I look into his eyes, I see my own. And in them, I see the disease we share reflected, bipolar disorder.