While expecting Eli, I grew tired of using the term pregnant and it variants (preggo, preggers, pregalious, etc), so I would use phrases such as “baking a baby” “brewing an infant” “generating life” … you catch my drift. About 20 weeks into manufacturing my legacy, an ultrasound revealed boy parts. This unveiling lead to natural speculation as to what he would look like and who he would be. Being that his name was not decided until the trip to the hospital for delivery, we began referring to our baby in terms of endearment: baby boy, little man, offspring, (the rather biblical) loin fruit, spawn, and jokingly “Mini-Me”. Which is EXACTLY how he came out – the spitting image of his father. Ninety-nice percent of the time Eli is a miniature replica of Andy. And I’m okay with this, Andy’s a good-looking man. So I’ll kid, “He may get his looks from Daddy, but he gets his awesome from Mommy.” Even with Eli’s personality, most days the only reason I know he’s mine is the memory of giving him life.
Except for days like today. Eli’s awake from his nap, and I walk into his room in time to see him toss his pants over the end of his crib. He’s grinning from ear to ear, jumping with glee, overly excited to be pantsless!! Hahahahaa! THAT is without a doubt, inherited from me!! I spent a good chunk of my younger-years missing an article of clothing. Guess I felt life was better naked. Seems, Eli agrees. My little man is just too cute!!
“Pants on the ground. Pants on the ground. Lookin’ like a fool with your pants on the ground”