You’ve gone through nine months of carrying him, four days of stop start labour and then been the primary caregiver, which basically means you’re the first person to get pissed, spewed and shat all over, so to then spend the next 20 weeks with not so much as an unprompted: “he’s got your eyes” from anyone other than my mum, husband and mother-in-law (who were all in cahoots trying to make me feel better) does actually start to grate.
By unprompted, I should say the people that I haven’t told he has my eyes as a response to ‘oh he’s like his daddy’ and then waited expectantly (menacingly) for them to agree.
I’m the first to admit he looks like my husband. For the record he does have my eyes though. I have been completely unable to contain my disdain at the people that have claimed his eyes are like my husband’s (I’ve been unable to control the facial muscles and so they’ve received a look that basically communicates ‘what you have just said to me is on the same level as if you had just pooed in my hallway’). It’s the one thing I have people – they are big and blue like mine. The chances are they are going to change because his Daddy’s are brown and that’s dominant so seriously just give me this frigging moment and let me enjoy that he has something that looks like me!
On reflection, my mum wasn’t just trying to make me feel better. She was doing what all mums do – it’s like some kind of law that every mother thinks their grandchild looks like their child (or their other children, i.e. the new aunties and uncles). Again, it was impossible for me to hide the look of disgust when my mother-in-law said that something about my boy was like my brother-in-law (the words ‘over my dead body’ and ‘not a chance in hell’ come to mind).
The other thing that I’ve ‘had’ all along is that my boy has my personality. He’s demanding, cheeky and nosy. But something else is starting to emerge – funny. Our friends and family will tell you; I am not the funny one. Clever – maybe. Witty at times – sure. Sarcastic – always. Funny – not so much.
My husband is the flipping funny one. And now the little monkey is funny. He tapped my husband repeatedly on the back the other day to wake him up and then giggled when he achieved his goal. He started chomping on my nose like I was Sophie le Giraffe and then let out a noise that was a cross between a cackle and a cat crying. And just half an hour ago he lay in his cot staring directly at the baby monitor cooing and chortling because he didn’t want to go to sleep and somehow I think he knows I am watching at the other end. Damn it.
I can feel what’s coming next and all I can say is if his first words start with D and end with ‘adda’, I am going on strike.