Bal walked in the room holding Brennyn the other day and for the very first time in 3.5 years of having children, I saw some of myself in one of my kids.
If I had not seen them come out of my body, I may have had to demand DNA testing. Physically, they are both entirely their dad. Sometimes people try to appease me and insist they see some of me in them. Which is ludicrous. Ludicrous that they do and ludicrous that they think this is troubling to me that they do not. 99% of the time, it does not even occur to me that they do not look like me.
Until I’m mistaken for the nanny. Or when some busybody asks me “Where are they from?” and I have to rack my brain for a polite way to say “My vagina.”
Now that Kaya is gabbing away and her personality is blossoming, this is when I see more of me come out. Certain phrases I say or even the way I grunt. Sometimes it is a mannerism, other times a certain door-slamming-attitude tips me off.
But never, NEVER before, have I seen my features in their features. Until Bal walks in holding Brennyn. Please understand, this is Bal and our baby:
Mind you, it is not a stunningly beautiful face that greets me. No, she comes in nose crinkled, brow furrowed and eyes penetrating me. Then, a quick roll of the eyes. I know this look. I’ve seen it looking back at me while trying to deal with an outbreak of acne or bad hair day. I imagine Bal has seen it many, many, many more times than that. It is a look of exasperation. An I-Can-Not-Believe-You glare of indignation.
I burst out laughing, point at her and screech “I see me! That’s my face!”
As I start to absorb the implications of this, my face furrows, my nose crinkles and my eyes roll, all the while crying, “Nooooo…”
Dominant genes I may not have, but dominant attitude, well yah, I’ve got a surplus of that. Enough, apparently, to pass down to my kids.