There are a lot of things I don’t like about myself – from the shape of my face to the width of my feet. When I married Micah I hoped that our kids would be miniatures of him because, well, he’s got nice legs and is much wittier and personable than I am.
Manchild is, in so many ways, a mini-me. Sometimes I ache knowing that I passed along some of those things that I don’t love to someone I love so much. I wonder how he’ll deal with them – if my insecurities will be his insecurities, or if he will even notice. And I wonder, and worry about, how I’ll deal with those traits in him as well.
However, there has been an unexpected upside to seeing my “flaws” in my children: I don’t see them as flaws as much. At least in them. Where I have seen weakness or weirdness or unattractiveness in me, I see normalcy in them. I see strength, endearing quirkiness, beauty. Those traits are some of the traits I find most intriguing in them, that I am most proud of.
It’s a surreal change in perspective, to see myself walking around in someone else’s body. And it’s a gift to have that person be someone I love so fiercely and unconditionally. Because even if I’m not quite able to embrace those traits in myself whole-heartedly, at least I can begin to admit that they’re really not all that bad.
How do you feel about seeing yourself in your kids? Did you hope they were more like you or more like your spouse?