This year, I have perhaps over-shared my daughter’s cheering season on Facebook a tich too much…but I figure, “Hey, it’s not like holding a gun to anyone’s head & making them look.” I mean, no one has rolled their eyes at me and TOLD me to cut it out with all the pom-poms already, but I’m not oblivious to the fact that every week I post a good 20-30 pictures of her…doing basically the same things (jumping, clapping, kicking) in a rotation of about 5 different uniforms. But in much the same way as I was when she was a baby…I find myself UNABLE to not show her off. (She was the prettiest baby EVER, and I have the pictures to prove it.)
Luckily, I have wonderful friends who put up with me & patiently look at all eleventy billion photos. I even have some who seem to enjoy them, and will occasionally comment. One comment that I’ve heard A LOT this year, and that really surprised me was, “She looks so much like you!” Because, really, her whole life, I thought she took after Jeff. I have illustrative proof of this as well:
That’s Jeff on the left & his mini-me on the right…both at around age 5 or 6.
However the other week, even my mother…who ALWAYS used to comment on how much the kiddo looked like my husband (she used to joke, “Who knew Jeff would look so cute in a dress!”) told me that she’s been looking more & more like me as she’s gotten older. Some of this can be attributed to the fact that her coloring has darkened, I’m sure.
But the whole thing does remind me of an article I read years and years ago about how children resembled their fathers more when they are babies…so they wouldn’t eat them or something. I mean, biologically, if you just pushed the little pot-roast out of your veryown body, you KNOW you’re the mom…and you’re certain that you’re genetically invested. The father, on the other hand, needs some reassurance when the little monkey has been up 23 hours straight with colic.
So I guess I’m just wondering if this shift in “resemblance” is another survival mechanism as she’s well into her teen years? Now that the whole “carried-her-around-in-my-body-for-9-months” thing threatens to be overwhelmed by the “if-I-have-to-tell-her-one-more-time-to-clean-her-room-so-help-me-GOD!” thing…am I needing a reminder (evolutionarily-speaking) that she’s my genetic legacy?