Mama's boy

It's time for me to face facts. Throughout the process of thinking about getting pregnant, trying to get pregnant, being pregnant, and laboring to push Bigfella out, I had one recurring fearful thought. "What if the baby only looks like the donor?" True confessions time: Bigfella must look like the donor, because he sure as hell doesn't look like me. While pregnant, I was worried that seeing a little person who looked like neither me nor Dyke Two would be somehow distressing to me. Of course, as it turns out, this is a ridiculous fear, since Bigfella is the most precious sight I have ever laid eyes on. I mean, he's beautiful.

People on the street stop us and tell us how beautiful he is. He has creamy latte colored skin, big brown eyes, a round, symmetrical face and just a hint of the brown curls that will one day cover his head. And when he breaks out his gummy, toothless grin, and his cheeks squinch up and his eyes light up, he looks just like Dyke Two.

I kid you not. The boy looks just like his mama.

Except that's not possible. I took high school biology. I took a course in college on genetics. (It was like "genetics light" for non-science folks, but it counts).

It's not just me seeing Dyke Two's love reflected back at me in the eyes of my son. People on the street mention it. The OB, hospital nurse and lactation consultant all mentioned it. My mom has admitted it. Dyke Two's co-workers talk about it. The boy looks like his mama.

When people tell us that, I just tell them, "I think she spit in the vial."