WHY “SHE LOOKS LIKE HER DADDY” NO LONGER BOTHERS ME
She looks like her father. Deep blue eyes, full red lips, long, strong legs, and little golden curls – a color somewhere right in between blonde and brown.
“Wow! She’s a daddy’s girl, isn’t she?”
From the moment she was born, variations of the above comment came thick and fast, and even though I agreed wholeheartedly, they stung like little paper cuts each time.
I mean, I carried her for nine months and battled to breastfeed her for six. I am the one that makes her face light up like fireworks every time she lays her eyes on me. I am the one that battled weight gain, imbalanced hormones and neurotransmitters.
WILL I EVER JUST BE BY MYSELF AGAIN?
I rush to the toilet, slide the door open, and pull down my pants. I sigh with relief and relax into the seat as I get down to business. My daughter, who I thought was being entertained by a riveting episode of Bananas in Pajamas, pokes her head around the wall. She steps into the cramped bathroom but isn’t satisfied with watching me, or playing with the tap. No. She needs to be right in my lap, right now. Annoyed, I pick her up.
We turn to the mirror and she squeals with delight when she sees our faces side- by-side. I laugh at my ‘pee face’ and then make a funny face.