My daughter looks nothing like me.
She’s cute. She’s adorable. She’s a sweetheart. She looks just like her Mom. She can’t be yours.
That’s all I ever hear from friends, family and strangers when they see The Hurricane next to The Boss.
And it’s true, except maybe in the eyes. She has my side of the family’s squinty eyes that we all get when we laugh and smile.
But the rest is pure Momma.
And I’m OK with that. I would hate for a little girl to look like me – it just wouldn’t be fair. And if we ever have a son, I’d hate for him to look like me too, because it wouldn’t be fair to place a kid behind the eight-ball so early in life.
But I’ve noticed some changes in The Hurricane recently that make me think she’s becoming more like me in some ways, just not on the surface. One way, and I know this is going to sound weird, is her tastebuds.
I know, I’m weird.
But it’s so true.
The past three or four days she has started gorging herself of dill pickles, one of my all-time favourites, and a food her mother has no interest in.
She has also fallen for those smash-you-in-the-face salt and vinegar cracker fish things that I absolutely love. Before she would take one lick of the overpoweringly salty snack, make a face and hand it back to me and my watering mouth, but now she’s shoving them in by the mitt full, leaving me a gaunt, starving mess.
Obviously, my tastebuds are set to salty. I’m very meh about sugar, but if it’s salty, I’m on it like a fat guy on salt and vinegar cracker fish things. If I had a choice between a bag of chips and a pound of chocolate, I’ll take the chips 100% of the time, but then go back for a nibble of chocolate just so it doesn’t feel left out.
And it looks like the little one is the same – for now.
I don’t know whether to be happy though, because that means less chips and crackers for me, while The Boss gets to keep her microwaved smores to herself.