Before Kellan was born, I fretted over who he’d look like or of he’d only look like Tim, my own genes lost somewhere on toenails and foot shape.
Illogically, I reasoned that since Kellan was a boy and Tim is a boy, doesn’t it just make sense that they look alike? That Tim has a “mini me?”
I have no idea why this was such a sticking point with me. It’s not like I had any control over it. Just like the rest of pregnancy, I’d lost the steering reins a long time ago.
I guess Letting go of control is difficult when you’re a Type A who has almost always been able to control her life and the events wherein.
A funny thing happened, though, after Kellan officially came into this world.
More than anything I wanted Kellan to look like Tim. I didn’t care at all about him looking like me.
It’s like a switch was instantly turned on…or off. One of those.
I’m also more maternal and motherly…but that’s another story for another time.
Anyhow, all I know is that there is something vitally important to me about Kellan resembling Tim. I don’t know if it’s the age gap between Tim and me (13 years for those keeping track) or if it’s just one of those motherly hormones or what but I’m the first person to tell people that Kellan looks like Tim…and I say it with pride and overflowing happiness.
Also? I’m more than thrilled that Tim’s baby picture and Kellan’s look almost identical – minus Kellan’s dark hair. I’ll claim that as my influence, though it looks like it is beginning to lighten up.
I guess I’m mellowing…or something.
Or maybe I drank the kool aid and this is the result. Other people are vastly more important than me and I’m keenly aware of their needs more so than I am of my own.
I’m in love with my little family. Very, very in love.