I have always been super fascinated by genetics. It amazes me how two people can come together and create these creatures that are a combination of those mixed genes. And each one comes out with a distinct look, a different combination of how those genes played out. The interesting thing is that I’ve never particularly thought that any of my children look like me. They most certainly look like my side of the family, though. My mother’s side.
And interestingly, that’s exactly the side I wanted them to look like. Not for shallow reasons, mind you, but because of the fact that save for my Bubbie and Zayde, the majority of their families were killed in the Holocaust. It’s nice that my children can carry on those Eastern European Jewish genes. It’s like this small little screw you to Hitler. Or something. But not me. My family. My Emily looks a ton like my Bubbie (interestingly, for whom she was named), like my sister, like my mother. My Josh looks a ton like my Zayde (interestingly, for whom he was named). Isabella was always kind of a toss up, mostly because with all of that hair, it’s hard to even SEE her face.
Until now.
We were at my mom’s house, eating our ritual Friday night chicken soup. Because Isabella was dragging her lovely hair through her soup with each spoonful, I made my way over to her and put her hair up in a giant bun on top of her head. And that’s when my mom dropped her spoon and went white. Without a word, she ran over to a bureau and pulled out these.
HER.
ALSO.
HER.
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