Most days when I am out and about with my children, at least one stranger will comment how much they look like me. I always say “thank you” as though I worked hard at getting them to look like me. Some of the same strangers have, at a later date, seen my children with both me and my husband. More than one has pulled me aside and said “Remember when I said that your children look like you, I was wrong! They look just like your husband!”
I know they look like him. And in some ways they act like him. But in so many ways, they are totally me. I’m sure as they spend more time away from me, they will absorb more of the other people they are around. But for now, I relish in the ways they are just like their mom.
Maggie’s love of reading, her vivid imagination, her technicolor dreams – she gets a lot of that from me. I sometimes wish I could have more of her adventurous spirit and her ability to talk to everyone within 10 feet of her.
Nicholas’ love of naps and sleeping, his shy side, and his sense of humor – much of that reminds me of myself. I could only hope for a pain tolerance like his – though I fear someday we may miss something serious because he will forget to mention a nail stuck in his foot or a broken limb.
I want them to be their own persons, and I believe that they are. I have just been noticing more and more as their personalities emerge that even though they look a lot like their dad, they are tiny, disguised versions of me. Minus the silence. They have yet to understand or appreciate my love of silence. Heck, I might not have appreciated my love of silence until it was replaced with constant chatter, and singing, and questions.
And both of the little critters have done at least one interpretation of me walking bent over, holding their backs, from this last weekend. Funny, aren’t they?