From time to time, I like to play this super fun game called match the babies. It’s easy – put all the babies in a row and see which parts of each kid looks like the others. Tru and Kirsten, same eyes. Kirsten and Finn, same face shape. Tru and Finn, same hair? I do this so often that the kids know how to fall in formation and squish their faces together in the most cherubic fashion. These are my perks as a mom. :)
I guess you can sort of tell that these three came from the same factory but look closer and they don’t really look that much like one another.
Then along comes a fourth baby and it’s clear that we now have a winner. As it stands, the prize for the most identical looking babies go to…
These 2 jelly rolls.
CAN THOSE CHEEKS GET ANY JUICIER? I think not.
I came upon some old baby photos yesterday and you know what I usually do whenever I see my old baby photos? I think to myself, “NO WAY, THAT IS ONE CUTE BABY.” And then right after, I think, “wait a minute, that looks exactly like MY baby.”
That’s what you get when you have an overriding gene.
C’mon, join me for a throwback.
Cloning exists, people! That’s all the proof you need. Same hair, same eyes, same nose, same mouth, same ears, same droopy cheeks – it’s like I’m looking at the same person, right down to the rolls of arm fats and tubby fingers.
Remember how I said that Kirsten didn’t get her girly girl genes from me? I take it back, I take it all back. Look at this proud wearer of pouty red lipstick; it’s about as girly girl as they come.
And that pose?!! It’s horrifying.
And my favourite photo of all…that’s me being a daddy’s girl, which is the best thing I could have passed on to my little girl.
My daddy’s all like “you’re on a time out, young lady” and I’m like “hahaha heehee haha…time out…dad, you’re funny!”
Ohai, it’s just a thing we do around here. Whenever anyone (I mean me) shouts armpits, everyone in the vicinity has to flash their pits, fastest flasher wins. I know right, we teach them the most important skills.
It’s clear nobody does this better than Finn; this guy wins all the time, it’s not even fair.
“Ack! WHUTT?? A tiny baby??? He even looks like me, that’s so weird. What sorcery is this?”
“Um…hey??!! How’s it going, mini me? Also, why are you not flashing your armpits? Word of advice, respect the armpits, yo.”
“Okay let me help you out here. Step one, raise your arms as high as you can!! Step two, uhhh, that’s it. Just commit to step one and you’ll be fine.”
“Seriously, it’s like you’re not even trying here. Gah, you so cute imma eat your face!!”
One, the husband is going to slaughter me for posting this picture on the blog because deep down inside, he’s just a shy guy who doesn’t like the spotlight (we’ll get to that in a minute) but it’s too good not to share so in the spirit of compromise, I’m (reluctantly) cropping out most of his gorgeous face and delicious muscles.
Two, artistically speaking, the focus and aperture and composition for this photo ain’t great but it’s one of my all-time favourites because…
Three, I look at this and I get a glimpse of my two favourite shy boys. Recently, baby Finn has taken to burying his head in his father’s chest whenever he meets new people, it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. And I know exactly where he got that from because that is the same look his daddy had when we first started dating. He’d be all confident and suave in a large group but when it was just him and me, he’d look at his shoes nervously and I’d see those same eyes.
Four, that chest sure looks comfy.
And five, smooth-talking casanovas are overrated. If you ask me, shy guys are the very best kind there is.
Nothing makes me as happy as when I’m driving like daddy.
Nobody comes between me and my blankie.
I’m serious. I mean it.
Were you talking to me? Hang on, I’m making out with my blankie.
Will I ever have hair as long as this?
The answer is NO.
Big brothers are for tickling.
And for snuggling.
And best of all, for secret sleepy kisses.