I am working on a major project at work, which has drained me and left me looking vacuous on most occasions at best. The other day, after having been at work for over eleven hours without a break, I finally pushed the papers away and sat there for a moment with my eyes closed. A co-worker from a different department walked into my office to see how I was doing. I didn’t hear her (you know I am tired when I start losing my hearing) (I am not even sure that is physically possible).
“Do you have any idea how fabulous you are?” I was too tired to fully understand what she was asking. I mumbled something incoherent, akin to thank you, and do you happen to have any coffee in your purse?
We started talking, and it was so nice to stop focusing on work for a second. She noticed the new pictures I put on my desk (me and Ducky, Munchie and Ducky), and she told me how beautiful my children are. Yes, my Duck is very handsome, and Munchie, albeit only two, is striking in her own way. I have a difficult time picturing what she will look like when she grows up. Some say she looks like me. I haven’t the slightest clue. I don’t see me. I see her. Well, this isn’t exactly true. She is long and lean like me. Both kids have my exact natural hair color. But that is where the similarities stop.
People assume Munchie will be beautiful because they see me as so. But then I think about my own mother. I pale in comparison. For those of you who know me and my family, no, I don’t mean now. I mean across time. When my mother was my age and younger (and even older) she was one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen, and most will say that she looked even better in person than in pictures. I don’t think that is possible. Because if she looked any better than in those pictures I am pretty sure people would have gone blind looking at her.
So when people tell me that they hope Munchie grows up to resemble me, I hope she inherits my ambition, drive, strength and will. Physically, I hope she looks like my mother.