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Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Genetic tactical advantage

Husband-cat and I are watching Baby Flails-a-lot minutely for any little indication she is becoming more like us. And by "us" I mean me, because everything is a competition. The Russian roulette of genetics means we have no idea whose genetics will win, but we're fascinated by the process and constantly inspect her for clues. I feel like Baby Flails-a-lot is like those mix and match books where the head, torso and legs are all dressed differently and you can jumble them all together for hours of fun. She came helpfully pre-jumbled.

At nine weeks in, the current standings are as follows:
  • Eye shape: ME! Almond, hello!
  • Eye color: The Hub, dark blue. Damn his recessive Paul Newman genes.
  • Skin: Indeterminate. I'm high yella and she's definitely leaning towards my coloring. Not pinky like The Hub.
  • Lips: Indeterminate. Generic Clara Bow baby mouth. A-friggin'-dorable.
  • Nose: Me, but my nose looks like all baby noses (i.e. little snub noses with no discernable bridge) so we don't know if she takes after me or is just in default baby squishy face mode.
  • Dimples: The Hub, dammit. We're in hot competition here because we both have double smile dimples. I have between-lower-lip-and-chin dimples ("chimples" The Hub calls them) and he has cheek-based dimples. Baby Flails-a-lot is not fully conversant with smiling technology yet, but her cheeks show signs of dimpling when she does make the attempt.
  • Hair: Draw. She has the baby bald spot on top which I find hilarious and little brown tufts along the sides and back. Generic wussy baby hair. Where's the definition? Where's the fluffy? The waiting is killing me! The Hub is blond (recessive!) and the product of blondies. I'm the product of an Afro and dark red wavy Irish hair -- which for me means black wavy, curly hair.

The wrenches in the whole score keeping system are a) general baby blobbiness and b) the exceptionally long gestation period for melanin production. It can take up to a year for full coloring to kick in! There'll be no finality til the eyes, skin, and hair settle in. How can I declare ultimate victory with that kind of timeline? 'Cause I'm busting out a Mortal Kombat victory dance when (not if) Baby Flails-a-lot gets my hair. I may even moonwalk.

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