Sitting with other moms, listening to the births of their children. Discussing how long and lean their kids are. How they are looking more like one parent or the other- growing like one parent or the other. Laughing and fantasizing about if they will be tall like daddy, or short like mommy. Commenting on how chubby their babies are getting.
I didn’t know it would feel like this.
I didn’t know I would revert inside myself. I didn’t know I would want to cry. I didn’t know that I would try to compare the length of their limbs with Addie and notice a 3 inch difference in leg length with a child 3 weeks younger.
I didn’t know the fear that this would bring up in me.
I love my baby girl, and she is perfect just the way she is- but I have to admit, I felt a pang of hurt. I didn’t want to be a part of the conversation. I wish that I could have gotten up and left the park, but I wasn’t angry. Just a little sad. The same sad I feel when someone asks me if she’s 10 or 11 weeks. Sad for the days ahead that will be difficult for her with her peers.
I was going to make a post similar to this, but I didn’t feel brave enough. Now I do. It’s an admission I have to make. Be it raw and unreasonable. This is not something I think about often, just passes through my mind when the topic comes up. It’s a conversation that I could join, I suppose, but I don’t know what to say. She won’t be tall like me, or short like Dave. She will be her own. I am incredibly proud, in a way. She will be Addie, and only Addie. She won’t have my lean (read: not skinny) or Dave’s athletic build. She will be short. Short like Addie. Beautiful like Addie- with a touch of mom and dad.
And so, I present:
Below is a post I wrote a few weeks ago that I feel comfortable sharing now.
Showing you my soul.
I don’t want to think they way I do, and although I’m sure it conveys as disappointment, it’s not. I’m full of awe of my beautiful baby girl. The way her eyes sparkle, her creamy, smooth skin and her amazing hair color- that I matched when getting my highlights done. Her little fingers and feet. Her smile is infectious and the dimples above her lips brings tears to my eyes. The way she turns her head to-and-fro, sticks out her tongue and squints her eyes- I’m sure the laugh is coming any day now!
But, I still wonder.
What would my daughter look like if she were of average height?
How many people just gasped? ‘X’ed out the window and vowed to never read my writing again?
I write of how people should not offend anyone, and here I am, offending myself.
I’m so ashamed to be wondering this… but hasn’t anyone else felt this way? As an average height parent, baring my soul in each post to the readers following, is it OK to wonder? I feel no need to dwell, but I promised myself I would be honest when writing. I would give people something to read that may not always make them smile, or agree, or want to know- but it’s the truth. My truth.
Addie will hold her head high, no matter who she is more like. She will have passion, drive, creativity, sass and the power of debate that runs though both her father and myself- and she is and always will be our beautiful girl. She will get a bit of each of us, I hope- my fire and Dave’s calm to the storm- as well as my nose, pinkies and ears, and Dave’s lips and dark blue eyes.
There are people of all races, nations, religions, orientations and statures that are beautiful and not, so please do not read this as a fear of her looks. It’s just a wandering thought, not a lingering concern, about who she would take after more.
And with so many concerns, is a little imaginative thought so bad?
…imagine if she got Dave’s nose- now that would be a concern!