Genetics

     My beautiful nine year old boy is the spitting image of his dad. I see me in his mannerisms but in actual looks, it's all his dad...except around the nose, that's me as well. As a baby I would push him around in his buggy and EVERYONE would say, doesn't he look like his dad. I have never got a look in.

    This time round what with my different cravings and what not, I was convinced I was having a girl. CONVINCED. So imagine my shock at the twenty week scan when a little winkie was pointed out to us on the screen. Now obviously in the grand scheme of things I don't really care whether it's a boy or girl, so long as they're healthy, that goes without saying. BUT. I have been hoodwinked, tricked, had the wool pulled over my eyes by my own body. Why let me think I'm carrying a girl if there is a little boy in there? I had stupid visions of colouring in, baking and a massive doll's house (I never had a dolls house) and now I'm stuck with football and rugby and noise.

      None of this bothers me as much as my next secret thought. Shhhh, don't tell anyone. I am now relegated to incubator. There I said it. I'm going to push out this baby and he will be the spitting image of his dad, and history (all be it with different dad's) will repeat itself. I will love and care for a son who everyone says is the spitting image of his dad and I won't have a look in AGAIN.
BLOODY HELL.