Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Roots to grow, wings to fly

The first thing people do when a baby is born is start breaking this little bundle into pieces... your ears, my eyes...

As a parent, I've noticed we don't stop.  We spend a lot of time analysing every aspect of our child, hoping to claim or blame every idiosyncrasy on someone.

Completely reasonable idea.  These children contain our very genetics and are reared in our constant influence.  Nature and nurture rolled in one perky little child.

But don't we share more than 90% of our dna with every mammal on earth?  It seems these few points allow for a very diverse result.  If my son is 1% not me, maybe scientifically speaking, the differences can be unimaginable.

My son is basically me.  The bff pointed this out within minutes of meeting him.  My daughter, all my husband.  Frequently, though, they cross over.  That's YOUR daughter!  That is so YOUR son!

I grew up being reminded I got my face from my dad, my, umm, chest from my grandma.  Heart disease from both sides, dry wit from my dad, childlike love of life from my mom.  Low blood sugar, mom's side, blood type was a combo contribution.  If I described myself from these traits, you wouldn't guess it's me.  I think I've added my own spice to the mix.

So here is a picture of my kids, dressed as their parents.  Funny kids.  They get that from me!

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