The baby looks nothing like me. She is her daddy’s child through and through. She even has his hairline, poor girl.
Her likeness to her father has been commented on by family, friends, and complete strangers. My own mother once exclaimed, “She’s all Daddy.” Thanks for acknowledging my contribution to her existence, Mom.
On another occasion, we passed a Whataburger employee on break as we exited the restaurant. Upon seeing us, he said, “Oh my gosh! She looks just like you!” I’m pretty sure he wasn’t talking to me.
At least she doesn’t look like the mailman.
Now that the baby is older, she resembles her father in yet another way. She walks like the drunken sailor he used to be. In fact, he’s the one who first made the comparison. I suppose it takes one to know one.
I did not know him in his days with the Navy, but I have heard plenty of stories. Many of them involve quite a bit of alcohol. He tells me of the nights he used to stagger out of some bar in an attempt to get back to base. Sometimes he was successful, and other times not. To protect the not-so-innocent, we’ll just leave it at that.
I can only imagine what one of these attempts must have looked like. Walk a few steps to one side, falter, take a few more hasty steps in another direction, lean forward, and finally stumble into the nearest object — table, bar stool, dumpster, another drunk. One of his alcoholic amblings left him with a scar on his chin.
Substitute the fixtures with items in my living room, and this is how the baby looks when she walks. It’s really quite comical in miniature. I just hope she is not left with any scars.