Definitely MY Daughter

I'm on a few mom groups on Facebook. Sometimes I find these groups very helpful, sometimes I find members to be a bit neurotic, but I always find being a part of these groups entertaining.

The other day a mom posted about how annoyed she was about constantly being told that her children look exactly like her husband and look nothing like her.

I know the feeling well.

Chris has brown hair, brown eyes and olive skin. Hannah has brown hair, brown eyes and olive skin. I have light brown hair, blue eyes and paler skin. A lot of people can't see past Hannah's colouring. But there are a few who can, and a distinction was made officially mere minutes after her birth.

There's not many things I remember about my emergency c-section (or what Chris likes to call "the war zone"). To be honest, other than the sound of Hannah's first cry most of it is a blur. (Which perhaps is best, who wants to recall when 20 strangers saw you naked?)

One thing I do remember is Chris bringing Hannah to me for the first time while the doctors were still moving around my organs and stitching me up and whatever else they do that seems to take forever. My contacts were out and I didn't have my glasses on but I could tell the 12 week and 20 week ultrasounds were correct. (I have a strict "no sharing ultrasounds on the Internet" so you will never see Hannah's on this blog or elsewhere.)

Hannah has my button nose. You can see this in the ultrasounds. After the technician pointed out body parts I took the ultrasound home and studied it for hours on end. Her nose bone was totally sticking up, just how mine does. I spent my youth rubbing my nose before bed hoping it would turn "normal".

It wasn't until my late teens that I accepted my nose (and my facial mole, but that's a whole other post and something Hannah doesn't have). It helped that a few boys had said nice things about it, and it finally stopped being a place for the zits on my face to converge.

But what really changed my hatred mind is when someone mentioned to me that I have my Grandma's nose. She passed away when I was 19. When I was told this, my nose wasn't just for breathing anymore - it connected me to someone I loved who I could no longer reach out and touch. I had a part of her with me every day.

And now Hannah does too. She is connected to her Great Grandmother, who, unfortunately she will never meet. Something I once hated about myself, I am now so grateful to have passed on to my daughter.

Back in "the war zone", the anaesthesiologist came over to me and told me my daughter was beautiful. And fresh from the womb, covered in blood, her true colouring not yet set in, he said it was clear to see she is MY daughter, with MY nose. He even joked she didn't need a bracelet and an anklet with my last name, it was indisputable that she was mine.

So when people tell me my daughter looks nothing like me even though I carried her for 40 weeks (and 2 days), I think back to my nose. The nose I inherited from my Grandma, which  my daughter then inherited from me.

Do people tell you your child looks more like your partner than you? If so, how does it make you feel?

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