There was never a question whose child I was.
With dark, thick hair and brown eyes, a clumsy gait and a friendly smile, I am the one of the four of us that has always looked most like my mother.
|Three pees in a pod...|
I tried to take only the best of my parents. I used his misdirected anger and hostility to become driven and hard-working, I used the ample curves that I have been supplied by my mother's side of the family to woo my man (and get out of tickets). He was analytical, she loved to read. These skills have served me well.
With Z, I have to focus on not allowing my anger, my rage to get out of control, with the Hubs I have to guard my sword of a tongue to protect his feelings.
I watch Z, I listen to her stories and I see that she is culling all of the best parts of the Hubs and I. I hear the too-big-for-a-three-year-old vocabulary and the tales that she weaves and I know that it came from me. I see the gigantic heart for people that she has and I know that it came from him.
I see her creativity, her eagerness to please, her ability to morph into new and different characters and it's like looking in a mirror.
I am the potpourri of my parents, and so is my girl. I hope that she can only find the best.
From the NaBloPoMo writing prompt: Between your mother and your father, who are you more alike?