They say that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. And that we turn into our mothers. Neither of those sound like bad things to me. But I wonder if at 16 (and a half) months I can recognise some of myself in Emily already?
I’ve been told more than once that we have similar expressions. That people see a look on her face that immediately reminds them of one of my looks. And her hair, once so dark, is turning blonde like mine was at her age.
She is very sociable. Her first word was “hi” and she doles out cuddles and kisses to her friends whether they like it or not, often ending with a baby pile-up as the over exuberant hugging causes them to collapse on the ground. I too love hugs and making new friends. I try not to topple my friends over (although I suspect some drunken tumbles may have happened in the past thanks to too much rose wine).
She will diligently put all her crayons back in the box or her blocks back in their place when she’s finished with them. In fact she enjoys it even more than playing with them. No, not at all like me, honest.
She likes to “read” magazines. And chat to herself. And to play with paint, paper and fabric. She’s pretty content to entertain herself when she’s in the right mood which according to my own mum I used to do as well. In fact I’m very happy in my own company as a grown-up too.
But in reality I think that right now I’m seeing what I want to see and encouraging her in the direction of the things that interest me.
Maybe in another few months I’ll have a different tale to tell as she has another strop over the wrong type of cheese or her pencils being in the incorrect basket.