(You can catch up on G‘s story right here: A Third Baby, Fighting Panic, Connecticut to Oklahoma, You’ve Got the Job, The Birth Story, 95 Degrees, She struggles to breathe, I struggle to walk., The Liquid Diet, Not Enough Oxygen, Getting Out of There, Let’s Party!, Fitting Our Lives into a Minivan, Finding a Home, Remarkably Unremarkable, The Fever and the Screaming, One Answer Leads to More Questions, Her Kidneys, You’re STILL Nursing?, Fearless at 14 Months, Youngest Child Syndrome)
[I'm going to keep this short and sweet today. I'm really, really tired, to be honest. We're awaiting some test results for our oldest (that'd be A.) and I haven't slept well. Please bear with me! ]
When our son was born, everyone said he looked like Daddy. His thick dark hair had something to do with that, I’m sure, and people seemed only too willing to overlook the blue eyes that had most certainly come from ME.
Our second child looks like her daddy. Her face shape, chin, the set of her eyes… it’s all from my husband. Her eyes, too, are blue, but they’re about the darkest blue you’d ever see and actually look brown in photographs.
I spent years hearing this:
“Man, did you have anything to do with these children???”
Um… YES. Yes, I did.
Still, all I ever heard was how much they resembled my husband. Obviously, I find the man attractive, so this is not a bad thing, per se. It was just kind of annoying to never get any credit for these cutie patooties we’d made.
All that changed with G.
No one has ever asked me if I had anything to with this one.