When my first baby was born, I knew she was going to be a girl. We found out, because we couldn’t stand not knowing.
From the second I learned about Violet*, I began picturing her in my mind. For some crazy reason, probably because I tend to be egocentric…I envisioned her looking like I did as a baby.
Fair, and blonde.
After 18 hours of labor, and a nurse threatening me to “Start cooperating…or else” (that’s right lady. If I don’t want to dilate, you can’t make me.) ..and a funny Dr. saying…”Well, we may just have to take ya out back and shoot ya..hardy hardy har” (We DO live in South Dakota)…things got a little scary, and the powers that be decided on an emergency C-Section.
I don’t think anyone could have been more shocked than me, when the Dr. extracted a plump, healthy baby doll with so much thick, untidy black hair, you would have thought she was one of Kiss’s tiniest back up singers who was ready to rock n’ roll all night.
Who IS this little person?
She had my husband’s coloring and jet black hair.
But, dear God, was she ever gorgeous. I decided to be ok with it.
Our Bonus Baby…our last baby, at least up until this point….( if my husband boy is reading this, I’m sure this little statement will get his blood pressure percolating)…..did NOT have the jet black hair. Dirty blonde.
Good! Maybe one to look like me! Third time’s the charm, right?
Nope. He has his father’s square jaw, eyes, nose..ears..everything. The phrase carbon copy fits pretty well here. And his hair continues to get darker, and curl up just like Edward’s* when the weather gets a little humid.
Which I absolutely adore. And let’s face it, look at my hunky husband. Carbon copying him isn’t a bad thing. But…what about me? Where’s my mark on my children? I need a kid that proves my genes are stronger than a jellyfish.
Which leaves the one in between. The Middler.
Initially, everyone made the same comments about him looking exactly like his Dad. “Oh! He’s a tiny Edward*!”….”One wouldn’t know YOU were the mother!”…”Well, this baby looks NOTHING like you! Are you SURE you are the mother?? haha”
I didn’t punch anybody in the face.
Only in my mind.
But, as this In-Between-Boy has grown to the ripe old age of 11, there are things about him, I notice, that are definitely me.
His nose for one.
My Mom always called me “button nose”. As noses go, I think I made out like a bandit. It’s one piece of plastic surgery I can cross off my Fantasy Surgery List. So, I feel a little proud to have given him a leg up in that department.
Middler got my nose, all right. And not just in looks. He’s allergic to every pollen, dust, mold, grass, trees, rocks, metal; basically anything that exists outdoors. And dairy is highly suspect.
I was kidding about the rocks and metal. But, I hate it. I feel guilty. As if I gave him my itchy nose on purpose; my wheezy lungs that rattle after being exposed to above allergens, or exposed to a nasty cold virus, and smoke.
He has to have surgery tomorrow, on his sinuses. And I’m nervous, of course. And excited for him, that he actually might be able to breathe out of his nose for once.
But, mostly, I’m wondering why on earth, did he have to get his Mother’s Nose.
P.S. If you are a pray-er….please say a little one for my boy tomorrow. If you aren’t, just shoot him some gorgeous light. Thank you so much♥
In honor of my beautiful boy, both inside and out: his favorite song by Uncle Kracker Smile. 🙂
*I change the names of my family out of respect for their privacy♥