20 some odd months ago I birthed the most beautiful baby I’d ever seen. He had red lips, dark brooding eyes and was tan. “Look!” I cried, “He’s tan! Actually tan!” This was a complete surprise, given that my husband and I are absolutely white as rice. “Jaundiced” corrected the doctor. I was too enamored to care. I decided right then and there that he had to have been the absolute best possible combination of my husband and I and we would never produce a more attractive spawn in our lives.
Since that time, all traces of my appearance have disappeared from his being. He has come to look so much like his father I can’t help but wonder if my genetic material even managed to enter his body. I can’t think of a hyperbole strong enough to express how many times I hear, “he looks just like his father!”. And that’s just his physical appearance. His mannerisms, humor and gusto for life make it clear who’s child he is. Yes, I was merely a vessel.
For the most part, this does not bother me. I committed to share every piece of my life with my husband so obviously there’s no one else I’d rather my son be like. Except… for me, that is. Why am I so desperate to see a little piece of myself in my child? Call me narcissistic, but I’ve spent the last year and a half collecting tiny pieces, signs that he’s mine too. Random and small, but true.
They are as follows:
1. He likes to sleep. A lot. I like to sleep. A lot.
2. We both love to read. That child could have all the books in Barnes and Noble, but he’d still want more. And let me tell you, he looks at every single page of every single book. He knows each by name.
3. He has come to classify people as one of the following: Fun, pretty or nice. I can’t say that I disagree. A little cut and dry, but positive nonetheless.
4. We are both left handed. Yes, this could change (in him not me, I’ve tried) but he consistently reaches for spoons, markers, crayons with his left hand.
5. We both share a passion for shoes. New shoes. He has even gone so far as to attempt to shoplift a shoe out of Nordstrom’s by stuffing it down into his stroller while I wasn’t looking. Oh, that I were that bold. I’m also constantly finding him asleep in bed wearing his rainboots. I on the otherhand, do not do this.
6. We both love carbohydrates. A few days ago, out of a deep sleep I heard him yell, “MACARONI!!!”. To my knowledge, I myself have not done this, but I can’t say my husband would be surprised if I did.
And, I think that’s it. 6 small, odd things that lead me to believe that I am related to my son. That, and the fact that I clearly remember carrying and delivering him, tell me for sure he’s mine.