The day my son was born, my husband and I marveled at his olive skin and thick dark brown hair. We were shocked that he had my coloring, as for some reason I’d always assumed he pop out looking just like his dad. As the weeks went on and his appearance gradually changed, his coloring started to fade and his hair began to turn a reddish brown. Now seventeen months later, there is not a single trace of that dark skinned baby that looked like a mini-mama. No, this boy is definitely a dead ringer for his daddy.
I’m at a family reunion this week with a lot of cousins and extended family that I haven’t seen for years. One of my cousins met Cullen this morning, and immediately looked at me and said, “Oh wow, he looks just like you.” I was shocked, and told her that was the first time anyone had told me that. Of course here and there I get things like “oh he might have your eyes” or “I can see he has your adventurous personality” – but when it comes to looks, there isn’t much about him that resembles me.
The funny thing is, I actually don’t mind at all. My husband asks if it bothers me that people always comment on how similar they look, but my answer it always the same. Naturally, I think my husband is very good looking, so why wouldn’t I be happy for my son to look just like him? I consider myself a lucky girl to be surrounded by two gorgeous boys all day long. And I don’t need him to have my nose in order to know he’s mine. I remember my labor – all three days of it. That boy is most definitely mine.