Now that I am working drastically fewer hours than I was, I have all this extra brain space free to obsess over random things.
Some of them are along the lines of the conversations that used to take place at 3 AM on a Tuesday sitting in Aunt Laura’s room at TI (“dude, what if, like, the movie the Big Lebowski is actually about the Bible? And the Dude is Jesus? And Jesus is…I don’t know…someone?”). Except now, it’s just me, alone in the grocery store, wondering if they still call them English Muffins here, or if they have some other totally random name.
However, the vast majority of my mental Olympics revolve around the children: worrying about their development and how I’m helping or hampering it; nitpicking my interactions with them, to make sure I’m not damaging them permanently in some unintentional way (above and beyond the intentional stuff); overthinking my interactions with the other parents, and trying to figure out if they think I’m weird because I’m an American, or just think I’m weird, and whether this is impeding William & Penelope’s social development. Basically, my brain is just a shit-storm of social over-analysis, like some weird mix of the eyes-open scene in Clockwork Orange + Heathers + Valley of the Dolls. (Parenting: It’s Totally Awesome!!!!)
One of the things I’m obsessing over lately is the resemblance of my children to their parents. Or, more specifically, the commentary regarding the resemblance. Or, even more specifically, my crazy-ass response to the commentary.
First of all, it cannot be denied that William and his dad bear slightly more than a passing resemblance to one another.
And, finally, Exhibit D:
Since I find my husband’s looks appealing (I mean, I did marry him and agree to have his children, not necessarily in that order), the resemblance is not upsetting to me in the least.
So what’s the problem? I have absolutely no idea. All I know is that, every time people EXCLAIM with much EXUBERANCE how IDENTICAL they are, omigod!, I get a wee bit irritated. Not a ton, but it’s there, and it makes me feel crazy. I mean, who gets defensive at sh*t like that? As if these innocent bystanders are somehow suggesting that William belongs to him more. INSANE. INSANITY! CRAZY LADY TIME!!!!
But the real wackadoo business is what I do afterwards: I pull out this picture of myself on my iPhone, where I look exactly like Poppy, and I say needily “Haha, yeah, whoaboy, they totally do look alike! But did I show you this picture of me when I was a baby? When I looked JUST like Poppy? Here, let me show you all these photos of myself as a baby where I am making faces similar to that of my daughter.”
And here is a portion of that montage:
Kids, man; they make you crazy! Or, more accurately, they give you opportunities for the crazy little bits of yourself to express themselves in totally unexpected ways.