YES! THESE ARE MY KIDS!
I personally conceived each one.
I carried each 8+ pound baby to full term.
I was torn inside out to expel these beautiful little beings into the world.
I breastfed 1 of 3 for 14 months.
Yes, yes, yes, these are my children. I promise.
And yes, I know, not one of them looks the slightest bit like me. Clearly I’ve got weak genetics which I don’t necessarily consider a bad thing. It means none of them inherited my lazy eye, my near-sighted vision, my hormonal instability or my crazy perfectionistic personality. I’m okay with that.
What I’m not okay with is complete strangers questioning my relationship with my children.
Just this week, I was visiting the hospital gift shop so my daughters could pick out flowers for their daddy (who just had his gallbladder removed) and as we’re checking out the woman behind the counter gushes on how beautiful their curly hair is, how sweet they are and then it happens.
“Are those your kids?”
“No I mean, are they YOURS?”
Yeah, I’m sure they’re mine. I know, they don’t look like me. At all. I know. They look like their daddy. (Please let this be the end)
“Well goodness, where did she get her blonde hair from?”
I had blonde hair as a toddler. It got darker.
“But what about all those curls? (pointing to my hair) They sure didn’t come from you.”
mumbling under my breath, no shit lady!
No, they didn’t, they just got lucky I suppose.
Another customer chimes in …. “don’t feel bad, my boys don’t look like me either.”