People have been asking for an image of The Varmint and me, you know, together. (That's the thing about lugging your Nikon around - you rarely have pictures of yourself. This one was shot by The Varmint's dad, Monte.)
Sneakily, I suspect that people are wanting this picture so they can try to imagine what la spawn will look like when our features are blended into her little face.
Poor kid. Let's hope she gets her daddy's coloring and her grandma's beautiful light-green eyes. She'll save herself a mint in the eyebrow liner and other feature-defining cosmetics we near-albinos are forced to splurge on. I can offer up some manageable hair, strong teeth and a fairly solid immune system... hopefully that'll translate - and count for something.
Beyond the surface, however, the tendency toward practical jokes and non sequiturs is, I'm afraid, going to be a given. I'm definitely hoping she isn't born with a keyboard glued to her fingers, as The Varmint's brother Justin predicted because 1) I'd really like her to spend some time OUTSIDE and 2) birth + keyboard = the kind of permanent damage no woman would want.
My favorite daydream these days imagines what sort of personality she'll have. Will she like nature, sports, hiking, books, art, music, cars? What? What? Sometimes, it also turns into a daymare... As my good friend Deb says: "Possibly the most disturbing thing about being a parent is having all of your most annoying habits reflected right back at you by your kid."
I hadn't thought of that 'til she'd said it. (Gee. Thanks, Deb.) Crap. Crap. Crap.
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