Blueprint in Your Back Pocket

You are all me. There’s almost nothing left of you that’s up for grabs.

From the dark tresses that topple over your forehead to the stuffed chipmunk cheeks and petite little feet, you are the embodiment of your mama. You are me in the impulse to straighten out rumpled rugs and tidy up quickly after messes, in the distaste for slimy fingers and the fear of fast rides and loud noises. I see me in your genuine passion for baby dolls and in the bossy little mama you are toward your older sister. The chameleon who mimics every sound and patterns every action after others and the pre-Mozart that sings and sways impetuously to the hint of any music echoes of me as well. Daddy keeps trying to stake a partial claim in your make-up, but aside from his cute, rounded nose, his bewitchingly hazel eyes, and his mystifying love of tomatoes, the rest of you is the unmistakably embossed image of me.

God fashioned a collage of your sister, pulling in from every direction of our sweet family, but with you he simply reused my identical cookie cutter. You are a smallish version of your sensitive, detail-oriented mommy, only I’m sure, after all is said and done, you will be the new and improved model. You won’t fear rejection or suffer from gloomy periods. You will be carefree and joyful, and you will easily attract many friends; this, you already do. Perhaps you will have your own share of shortcomings that will be true to you and only you, but along with that you will have your own set of glories as well.

But for now, you are reflective of my very heart and soul, a mirror refracting back at me; you’ve got my blueprint in your back pocket.