“I hope you have a child just like you when
you grow up!” This is an oft repeated phrase by many a parent who is
exasperated with a particularly difficult child. In my case it’s not so much a
curse as a statement of fact. Over the last two and a half years it has become very
apparent that my daughter is just like me.
When
she was born my parents immediately stated that she looks just like me. And
sure enough, after a side by side comparison of baby photos it was quiet
evident that indeed she does look just like me. She has my round face, my brown
hair and she’s been at the top of the growth chart since birth. With the
exception of her brown eyes (mine are blue) she’s my mini me. She has also
inherited my cheesy grins. Since becoming aware of what a camera is, she has
adopted the same squinty eyed, toothy grin that fills several albums worth of
photos from my childhood. I was always one to strike a dramatic pose whenever
someone pulled out a camera and anyone who follows me on Facebook has seen that
my little diva is prone to doing the same.
Music
is another thing we have in common. According to family lore, I sang before I
talked. Many times my mother has talked about how when I would wake up in the
morning or after a nap, I would sing to myself. Terra has also developed a love
of music and a sweet little voice. Frequently, I will hear her in her room
playing with her dolls and she turns life in the dollhouse into a musical. She
makes up songs like I used to do and we sing songs in the car. She loves all kinds
of music and one of her favorite things to do is sing songs with grandpa. My
dad is the one who taught me how to sing in harmony and I hope that he will
teach her how as well.
She
also has my stubborn streak. She has become little miss independent and I can’t
tell you how often I’ve heard her say “I do it myself!” Whether it’s brushing
her teeth or putting on her pajamas she wants to do it herself, no matter how
long it takes. And every time she asserts her independence when my mother is
around, my mother just laughs. “I know someone else who insisted on doing
everything all by herself.” We’ve been working on potty training for almost a
year now and even though she knows what to do, we just can’t quite get rid up
the pull ups. My mother has reminded me many times that when I was her age, I
refused to give up diapers (they didn’t have pull-ups back then) until she told
me that big girls who wear leotards and go to gymnastics don’t wear diapers.
From then on there were no more diapers for me. I’m sure that one of these
days, my daughter will discover her own “thing” and suddenly it will be only
big girl panties for her. But not until she’s good and ready.
She
loves to hold her little brother and give him kisses. She loves to read stories
and play with stuffed animals. She loves to go to “school” and learn and play.
She loves to give hugs and kisses. She’s
sweet and smart and sassy. She’s curious and loving. She has amazing energy and
loves to be the center of attention. She talks to everyone and when people meet
her they quickly fall in love with her beautiful spirit. And every time my
mother looks at her with grandmotherly affection and says “I love that girl.”
It feels like she’s saying it to me too.
My mother says my daughter’s just
like me. My daughter is my mirror. She is the universes way of making me look
at myself and realize that I am a strong, smart, beautiful woman. I want to be
a good example for her and I want her to grow up believing that being “just
like me” is a good thing.
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