(holy crap, I just posted actual pictures here. If you knew how long it took me to do this, you’d overlook the fact that these pictures are way too big for the page. I am so not computer savvy and Dave isn’t home to help me, i.e. do this for me. Either way, I am very, very proud of myself.)
I have never pretended to be much of a baby person, but I’ve known a whole ton of people who were. When I rotated through the maternity ward, I spent most of my time wishing that I was in Labor/Delivery where the action was, whereas many of my starry-eyed compatriots expressed how cuuuuutttteeee the babies were and how much they couldn’t waaaaiiiitttt to work with them. Sure, I like babies, I probably think that they’re cute (especially once they’re past the whole garden-gnome stage), and when you have yours, I’ll be there at the hospital to oogle them and tell you how awesome you look, and of COURSE you’ve shed all of that pregnancy weight with delivery. Because I’m your friend.
When Alex was born and the people began to swing by to meet him, I was amazed at how many people said that he was cute. It’s not that I don’t love him to pieces, of course I do, but I thought that he looked rather like Chicken Little. The next words out of their mouths were invariably “Holy crap, he looks JUST like Dave!” because he did.
(as an aside here, I happen to make mention of which parent the child looks like ALL THE TIME when I see new babies. Mainly because most of my friends know that I think babies are pretty strange looking at first, and because when I feel uncomfortable or tell a lie, my mouth opens up and stuff pours out whether I want it to or not. Mentioning that the baby looks like Mom or Dad is a way that I don’t keep going on and on about how cute your baby is (or isn’t) because eventually you won’t believe me.)
At first, this didn’t bother me, as even when he was unceremoniously dumped onto my lap immediately post birth, my inital reaction was something like “If there had been any question of parentage, we now know who is father is.” The resemblance was that uncanny.
The Only Picture I Have Of Dave on My Computer Currently (but you cannot see the resemblance there):
Eventually, though, I started to get tired of people commenting on this fact. It was bad enough to have to hear it from our family and friends, but then strangers would comment on it, too. What made me more upset about this than anything else is that Ben would be right there while people would go on and on about the baby, and you know what? At five (and six) he not only understands what you are saying, but he can respond to you in full coherant sentences as well.
I suppose the silver lining in this is that once the stranger realizes that Ben is responding to him (Ben looks about three, the ickle peanut), if they are not a complete jerk, they will eventually comment on how much Ben looks like me. He doesn’t, not really, I mean, we share coloring with the dark hair and darker skin, but honestly, he looks like his father. If, however, you do not happen to see him next to his father, you just see Dave and I together, you would absolutely think that Ben takes after me.
(Dave + Alex = pasty newsprint complexion. Turns beet red if in sunlight for >2.4 seconds.
Becky + Ben = dark and mysterious skin color. Possibly even sexxy.)
The other day during dinner, Ben spent a good deal of time searching Dave’s face to see where his resemblence to him was, after I had made mention earlier in the day that Ben, Alex and I shared eyes (which is a VERYGOODTHING, not so much for now, but for a later date, when Ben might care). He eventually decided on, I believe, ears being the same.
I just didn’t have the heart to explain to Ben, who adores and idolizes Dave more than he ever will his father, about biology and genetics. So ears, Ben and Dave share ears.
(now if I have another one, is it too much to ask that he or she look at least a little bit like me?)
Because I’m feeling spunky, here’s a picture of my wedding cake, the coolest part of my wedding: