Child of Mine?

Mia: "mine, child of mine"

Becoming a parent is interesting. While pregnant, I would often try to imagine how the tiny baby we created would look and act. Tried to understand how God takes two extremely different people's personalities and DNA and melds it into another human being. It's funny how we tend to be so wrong.

All along, I assumed I had the more dominant genes. I expected an olive skinned, tiny girl with my black hair and eyes. I imagined her a little bookworm with my calm demeanor. What I got was a light skinned, chestnut haired, amazon heighted fireball. Wow!

Mia is so her father's child. She not only looks like him, but she shares his active spirit, his sense of adventure. She is a child of perpetual motion. Always running, jumping, dancing. If she is still, she is sick or sleeping. Her hair is in constant disarray, her chewed up fingernails often caked with dirt. Legs covered in bruises and band aids. It is not uncommon to find her wearing a pink princess dress and crown, but with a pirate dagger concealed in her shoe. She is the daredevil I never was and tries my cautious nature as she keeps my heart in constant fear for her safety.

 And yet, as each year passes, I find glimpses of myself in her from time to time. She is a lover of beauty and nature. She feels deeply. She is thoughtful and compassionate. She loves ice cream. She is headstrong and stubborn. She is a girly girl always clad in pink and glitter, with shoes, purses and jewelry to match. She loves nail polish (even if it only lasts a few hours). She is the bookworm I longed for and will beg for "just one more" book every night. She is my little helper always next to me gardening, cleaning and cooking.

Full of contradictions.

 A perfect blend of her parents opposite natures.

Mia: "child of ours"