When my mom describes me as a baby, she usually says I was, like, the sweetest baby ever. She says I was mild-mannered, chubby, bald, cuddly, and a great sleeper; I slept every night from 6 p.m. – 6 a.m. without fail. So when our kids wake up at 4:55 a.m., skip their nap, and push against bedtime, Tom looks at me with tired, weary eyes and says, “Why are they doing this? Where did they get this from?” And I just look back at him and say, “I have no idea because I was a perfect baby.”
David has a lot of his daddy’s characteristics. He’s focused, a little bit introverted, an observer, obsessive, and he gets frustrated if he can’t immediately figure something out.
I keep watching Mary Virginia to see if she’s like me, and nothing really sticks out. But, who knows, it’s too early for sarcasm, or a proclivity for reality television. I suppose we’ll know when we see how she settles into her role as a middle child. If she exhibits even a little bit of maturity then we’ll know for sure that she is her father’s daughter, because I can’t relate to that at all.
Then I remember that one of Mary Virginia’s first words was “Cheeto”, and that she’ll crawl across the kitchen table for a bag of chips, and suddenly it’s like I’m looking directly in the mirror.