One look at a photo of my family and you can see I look different. Both my parents have brown hair and are average to tall in height. Although some say that my sister and I have very similar faces, she has dark hair, olive skin and is quite tall.  I on the other hand am short (barely 5 foot 2 inches) with red hair and freckles.  As a child growing up this was something that bothered me greatly.  Anyone who is in some way different than the crowd can attest to the pain it can cause. I hated looking different than everyone else and badly wanted brown hair and skin that didn’t glow before turning a shade of red that resembled a tomato.  I used to see being different as a curse, not something to be proud of.  It took me many years before I grew to love my Irish heritage, red hair and pale freckly skin.

This brings me to Abby.  Every parent has dreams and aspirations for their children.  I wanted above all for Abby to be happy, whatever that may entail for her.  I put very little thought into her appearance, it didn’t really matter to me.  One day, a few months into my pregnancy, a friend asked me if I wanted my baby to have red hair like me.  ‘I don’t know…’ was my reply ‘I’ve never really thought about it’. I would love to pass my roots and ancestry to her, every red head loves St. Patricks day! But do I want to also pass on the teasing and desire to look like everyone else to my child? Thank goodness this was something out if my control and there was nothing I could do but wait and see!

I can clearly remember that when Abby was born both the nurse and the doctor were shocked by her dark head of hair and dark grey eyes. This was the first, but not the last, time I would hear how different my daughter and I looked. I loved her more than anything in the world at first glance and I never even noticed what she looked like, to me she was perfect. It wasn’t until the excitement died down that I took a good look at my new baby. Looking back at me all snuggled up in her blanket was Jay, my husband.

The first few weeks were a blur and I had no time think let alone analyze Abby’s appearance. She was healthy and that’s all that matters. However I began to feel a twinge of disappointment and even sadness when I would pass my new little girl to admirers and I would hear what would become the all too familiar words…she looks just like her Daddy.

On the surface there is nothing wrong with her looking like my husband. I obviously think he is good looking so what could be the issue. It’s not that she doesn’t share my red hair and pale skin, or that she doesn’t have my funny non-existent ear lobes, it’s just that I wanted so badly to see myself in her. It sounds so strange and selfish to think that I want or even ‘need’ to see myself in my child’s reflection. I know we will have an amazing bond no matter what she looks like. I find the more I hear the comments on how much she looks like my husband and nothing like me the more it hurts. Someone said we should get a maternity test done to make sure she was mine. I know comments like this are made in fun, often said to the new father in a reassuring ‘you didn’t carry them or give birth to them…but they look just like you so you have that bond’ kind of way. However it is said it hurts.

Abby is now six months old and I have had plenty of time to come to terms with the fact that we don’t physically look alike. But these six months have also given me time to see all the things we do have in common. We both love books, of all kinds. A well timed snuggle can make everything better. We both laugh uncontrollably when our knees are tickled, even just a bit! We are both independent and although quick to get angry/sad we are even quicker to forgive. We are social butterflies who love the company of others, as well as some quiet time alone. And we also both enjoy some warm milk before bed, although I take mine in a mug with honey!

So instead of dwelling on the outside physical differences, I now focus on the inside and everything we share in common.