Friday, August 25, 2006

Father's Daughter

There has been a long going debate about who our daughter looks most like. Get her around my clan, and most are overwhelmed at how it takes them back to yesterday, when dear little Julia was just a babe. But we get the same response when we're around Pat's family, but, this time, they think she looks just like Pat. All we can figure is that Pat and I must have looked a lot a like as children.

In short, the resemblance is strong enough to insure that she's his kid.

But there are other times when I know with even more confidence that their gene pool's are one in the same. Like when we're at the library doing puzzles, and she can name every single tool on the hand tool puzzle, long before she can come close to identifying the letters of the alphabet. (When in doubt, just guess that's its a "k" seems to be her strategy.)

And even further, the presence of the printed word on paper bound together with a spine seems to be a natural laxitive for the both of them. Her father can't go to the bookstore, nor can she go to the library, without "a movement". Its been that way since she was an infant (and, respectively, since I've known him). (And I've talked about poop in yet ANOTHER post. *sigh*)

But the other day, when we were just taking it easy at home, I knew, once and for all, that she was the very clone of D.P. Rock, when, while paging through her library book on the living room floor, had the audacity to look up at me, after I had called her name from the kitchen, and say "Shh, Mommy! I'm reading my book!"

Bone of my bone. Flesh of my flesh. She is....Mini Pat! If you pray, please do so for me.

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