Week 4 Day 5: "He really does look a lot like you."

Today Gavin and I went to my friend Rosemary's house for a play date. Rosemary has two little girls, 4 years and 18 months. They're a little old for Gavin, but he's not really into interactive play right now. Mostly he likes to watch Ella, the four year old, run around. If I had a dollar for every time she said, "I love you," directly to Gavin in this very earnest and yet playful kind of way I would have several dollars. When we arrived both girls were taking naps (well, Maddie was. Ella was listening to stories on CD in her room and occasionally using the nursery monitor as an intercom system to summon her mom), so the main "date" for Gavin's play date was Rosemary herself, which was great. It's pretty awesome to watch someone you love ooh and ahh over your kid. And Gavin was totally in his element, trying to climb over her and slobbering on her pants. He has a way with ladies.

At one point while I was holding Gavin Rosemary said, "He really does look a lot like you," which is something she's said before but it was really nice to hear again. I'm not sure it's deserved because I am astounded every day at how completely adorable and handsome my son is. I told Rosemary it was because we both have chubby faces, but really his face is way chubbier than mine. I think it's the eyes -- he has blue eyes and I do, too, although mine are much lighter, a grayish blue, and his are a darker blue, more blue jeans blue. His donor has blue eyes and I would be lying if I didn't hope very hard that this trait would be passed on to Gavin. Stacy's eyes are more hazel. Brown sometimes, but definitely not blue. Gavin also has lighter hair than Stacy. It's more like mine, in fact. I was so obsessed with picking his donor and I have no doubt that I made the right choice.

It's not like if Gavin looked nothing like me I wouldn't love him or something. But it does matter in the grand scheme of things. When we picked a donor we knew right away that he had to be white. Not because we're KKK members or anything, but because we knew from the start that living in Michigan I, being the nonbiological mom, wouldn't be able to legally adopt whatever child we had together and our lives are much simplified if my race and the child's race are the same. Right now when I call Gavin my son no one questions it. And he IS, damn it, but not in the eyes of the law. So the fewer doubts placed in other people's heads the better.

In any case, that people say (it's not just Rosemary) that my incredibly handsome son looks anything like me is pretty much the highest form of flattery. And it's also a real boost to my mom ego. I don't really think much about him not being my biological son. And being told he looks like mine helps me think about it even less.

Speaking of handsome sons, Stacy and I watched About A Boy tonight and although I cried at the recital scene, mostly I couldn't get over how homely the boy in question was. I know I am a shallow and terrible person, but come on. It made me think of Home Alone 3, which I was subjected to on a flight bound for Japan. I couldn't stand the way the kid looked. It was mostly his hair. How on earth did an entire movie get put into production and nobody said, "Hey, maybe we should use a cute kid like we did for the first two movies." I know, I'm going to hell. And in that hell everyone will have terrible, terrible hair cuts. Actually, now that I think about it, that probably is exactly what hell has in store for me. Assuming, of course, that each person's hell is an individualized experience.