I can’t get the phrase “dolla-dolla-bills-ya’ll” out of my head tonight. It’s putting itself at the ends of all my inner sentences, where the period should be. Like: Getting out the cream cheese (dolla-dolla-bills-ya’ll). No more clean spoons (dolla-dolla-bills-ya’ll). Don’t forget the laundry (dolla-dolla-bills-ya’ll). This has nothing to do with the other content of this post, I just wanted to tell you (dolla-dolla-bills-ya’ll).
Anyway, I saw a photo of B.T. and realized my kid inherited my dirty-look DNA.
I always joke that instead of a mother, I’m more like a clone machine for Ryan’s minis. Neither of my kids look like I spent 9+ months baking them, followed by surgery, followed by never sleeping again. In fact, only about 1% of those polled think my children bear any resemblance to their mother*.
So maybe it’s because (deep thought alert!) I’m myself, but I tend to agree with the 99% who wonder from whose uterus these children emerged. So this photo came as something of a minor shock to me.
His face is like, “oh, uh-uh, girl. No you di-int,” with the same glottal stop teenage girls use to order iced tea at Starbucks (“swee-end or unswee-end?”).**
When I saw the photo, I says to myself, “Waaaaaaiiiiit a minute. Where have I seen that face before?”
Oh, right! ON MY VERY OWN FACE.
The photo above is from my 2007 wedding. It’s a jokey face. Hopefully any disdain you feel on your wedding day is jokey. I can image actual contempt might not be the best way to begin a marriage. As I always (as in, this one time) say, save the contempt for when the newborn’s a-screamin’ and no one’s a-sleepin.’
I couldn’t find a photo of a real disdainful Corinne face, so you’ll have to take some responsibility here and perform your own mental conversion. Or maybe you have time to Photoshop it.
Before B.T. came into this world, I didn’t spend a lot of time dreaming about what he would or wouldn’t inherit from me. I mean, everyone hopes their kids will be intelligent and not like things that obviously suck. I sometimes wonder which one of my parents is responsible for the Milli Vanilla tape I owned in the early 90s. And I bet some of you have lost sleep wondering which one of you passed the Justin Bieber gene to your little honey-boo-boo.
My point is, I never thought the first solid resemblance I’d notice in my child is when he gave someone a shady look.
Now let us see the two photos side by side, for maximum comparison value.
At least my DNA is not being used for something impractical, like a preoccupation with owning chickens or listening to Death Cab for Cutie. Instead, I seem to have passed on my talent for throwing dirty looks at people who probably don’t deserve them.
When was the first time you saw something of yourself in one of your kids? Do you find it as horrifying as I do when your kid mimics your not-so-savory behaviors?
*P.S. No way did I actually poll people. What do you think I’m doing all day over here?
**P.S.#2 My 2 year old son NEVER talks like a teenage girl. That would be creepy and I would probably have to stop watching reality TV in front of him.