How I know

People joke with me that there is no doubt that my children are mine -- people say they look exactly like me. When Tahlia was young, I always gave the coy smile and the look down. I felt bad for Mommy because very few people said that Tahlia looked like her. She even confided in me, one day, that she would often call Tahlia by my nickname. Again, the coy smile and the look down.

When Asher was born, again people started making the comments.

"Well. . . he looks exactly like you."
"Who do you think he looks like?" Mommy would ask strangers on the street. Sometimes they'd pretend to think it over, but all would point at me. One person said she saw a lot of Mommy in Asher. I'm pretty sure she also smelled heavily of whisky.

Some people would wait until Mommy had already stated that she felt as though Asher looked like me, then say that that was their first thought.

Coy smiles. Look downs.

Recently, though, I've come to believe that they do not look like me. This occurred to me when I realized that Mommy stated that the two children look nothing alike as infants. This made me wonder: If they don't look like each other, but they both look exactly like me, how is that possible? It was then that I realized that I must look like an infant. It is not as much that these two babes resemble me as I resemble a week, month, etc. old child.

That said, last night, I found how I know they are truly mine. Not mine in the biological sense, often, this matters little to parents. Mine in the mine sense.

It was late. Not the 11 o'clock news late. Not the Late Late show late. The late of Mommy waking me to say that I needed to take a turn because she just needed to lie down. Some people also call this late early. It all depends on one's perspective. If you're thinking about when you thought you'd fall asleep, then it's late. If you're thinking about when you're waking up, then it's early.

I took the small bundle in my groggy arms, blinking my eyes vigorously in an attempt to stay awake. In an attempt to remember my duty and responsibility. That duty, of course, was to keep the child quiet enough so that Mommy could have at least an hour of solid sleep. I looked to the rocker, and realized that it was too early to attempt the feat of staying awake while rocking. I heard the lull of the rocky rocky rocky. A dangerous combination. Therefore, I stood and rocked.

At first I had a cradle hold, but the little guy started squawking like the toucan in Tahlia's latest library book. Therefore, I moved to the head in the crook of my neck, bum against arm, body straight up and down hold. It was then that I realized it.

He fit.

I think there is something in our children's DNA that allows them to fit exactly into that spot in the crook of our neck. As I stood there, I remembered back to a forgotten time when Tahlia was this small and would fit in the same, exact spot. When, on similar sleepless nights, I would hold her in the same way and, as I comforted her, she would comfort me with her smooth forehead and downy hair. As I stood there, no longer struggling to stay awake, I was brought back to that moment. A moment I thought was gone long ago, but somehow, stayed in the recesses of my mind. And Asher fits the same way.

Now, when I cuddle with her as she recovers from this nasty bout of croup, she curls up on my chest and finds that same snug spot that housed Asher the night before. And she fits.