I have my mother's hair and eyes. I have my father's skin. I have my mother's good teeth (no cavities!). I have my father's head for business and financial planning. I have my mother's loud voice. Neither of them are big adventurers. Neither of them like documentaries or independent films. Or being active in church.Or (before my son's birthday) knew what a cake pop was. Neither of them are voracious readers or have any interest in writing. Neither of them are extremely social or desire the large group of connectedness. That stuff is all me. All mine. It's the piece of me that comes from somewhere else. Or maybe nowhere at all.
My son has my husband's eyes. His long arms and short legs. His sense of humor. My bad temper. My stubbornness. My sweet tooth. My desire for attention and affection. My husband's love of Star Wars. My love of books. He is an early riser like my husband. Unfortunately, he's also a bit of a night owl like me. Then there are the other things - that he likes to play outside, that he is athletic (for a toddler), that are all him. Things that didn't come from either of us. He is both of us and still a part that is neither of us. A part that is just him. All his own.