All you women know this feeling.
The feeling that comes over you after the umpteenth-hundredth time, another observer claims that your child looks so much like your husband. And, how she doesn’t look like you at all.
This is just plain annoying.
I mean, I did carry this child in my body for 9 months, or in La Petite Belle’s case, 11 months.
I felt every move, every hiccup.
I had cravings for Mexican food and steak.
My body was transformed and I have scars to prove it.
I DID have something to do with this child. Heck, I did have EVERYTHING to do with this child, except for that tiny little thing … (ahem) that microscopic you-know-what provided by her daddy.
Now, I don’t want to hear anymore smack about how much she looks like her daddy. Not a word.
Give me a little bit of credit here. I deserve it.
She’s the spitting image of her mother.


FYI: Beau’s pictures at this age … skinny and blonde … sounds like another daughter of mine.
Weird. I know.