My first born is like a little mirror image of my husband. There can be no question of her paternity, and seeing them walking hand in hand somewhere make my womb pulsate with happiness. They are one. I absolutely love it. But sometimes they are so similar, it leaves me feeling like an outsider. She has his mouth, his eyes, his determination, his massive feet. She is like a little, more feminine version of him. Like a mini subuteo figure of my husband.
I, however, share absolutely no physical traits with her whatsoever. She looks nothing like me. I’ve been told she has some of my facial expressions, but as I don’t really know what my face is up to most of the time, I can’t really see it myself. I just see him. And mostly that’s lovely. After all, I do love him rather a lot, so it’s no bad thing to find myself bringing up a miniature him. But sometimes it’s a bit odd.
I read somewhere that your firstborn shows up looking like their Dad for a reason. It’s natures way of helping Dad to make the connection that they belong to him, and he needs to protect them. I assume the ruination of our vagina is our personal reminder. That or the stretchmarks. Or maybe its the incontinence…….. So anyway, nature made our first born children look like Daddy to ensure their survival in the world. Isn’t nature clever. I imagine it will soon start evolving the birth process to make it more efficient too. I have been thinking about this for a while, and I suggest we go down the marsupial route. Give birth to a tiny tiny baby who just comes out without any bother, then keep them in a small pouch with nipples inside so they can feed at will without bothering you at all, whilst keeping them safe and warm and bonded. I also assume the pouch smothers the sound of crying a bit too. I swear kangaroo parenting is the way forward.
I digress. It seems terribly vain to want to have a little person who looks a bit like you. I mean, it’s not as if I look like Holly Willoughby or something. In fact, I’d be devastated if the Diva was saddled with my arse in later life. And if the small people being made in my image, meant that much to me, I should have gone and auditioned for Star Wars or something. Then I could have had my own lunchbox and thermos flask as well as a figurine. But it is kind of nice to see something of yourself in them. Just the bits you like though. So far the only thing my daughter has inherited from me appears to be her stubbornness. Yay, go me, what a great genetic donation that was.
But then the Hulk came along. I am a very natural blond, he was just as white blond as me. Mr Mess Stress and Fancy Dress is as dark as dark can be. They look absolutely nothing like each other. And as it happens, sometimes he finds that a bit odd.
But actually it turns out that having a terror or a toddler who looks just like you might not be so good. Particularly when he’s hitting another toddler over the head with a plastic bus at playgroup……..Then you start to wish like mad he looked like his bloody father.
Did you enjoy this post? If you did it would be lovely if you could find it in your heart to nominate me for the BIBS or the MADs. These are blogging awards, its a veritable path to blogging glory. Here are the links, go on, nominate me, help me get noticed, it might one day finance my swiss roll habit! xxxxx