A dream and a wish.

A few days ago, I ran into an acquaintance I had not seen for several months. She commented on how big my Scrunch was getting and then asked, "Are her parent's tall?" I winced ever so slightly and responded, "No. They are average height." I was oh so proud of myself for not smarting off. Two days later I have plenty of comebacks, believe me. (I will reserve them for use at a later date and include "None ya'! and "go to H-town!")

I've tried to think about what really bothered me about the question. I have determined that it had more to do with the person who asked it, than the question itself. Between John and I we will often comment on how much Scrunch looks like her birth mother. Every once in a while I will catch a glimpse of what I imagine her birth father to look like as well. I've been told he looks a lot like my own husband. It's not a secret around here. Her name is spoken frequently. We wonder aloud about her. She is not a threat to me. I can without any bit of hurt, or fear, or discomfort acknowledge that Scrunch's button nose looks like it was peeled directly off her birthmommy's face and positioned cutely on hers.

When I look at my Scrunch, I don't see myself and I am glad for it. When I look at her face I am reminded of every blessing I have been given. I dreamt of a little girl with lots of curly hair. And that's exactly what I got.