As I may have mentioned, I have two beautiful sons.Noah is a gorgeous boy with thick, curly hair -although now the Afro has gone and it is regularly cut and left plaited on top – the cutest little button nose and lips and huge dark brown eyes and the thickest lashes you’ve ever seen, his tanned smooth skin still has that baby texture. He also blows Cara Delevingne out of the water with his brows. They’re so striking and as a newborn it did take him a while to grow into them! 

Roman is only 4 months old but couldn’t be more different if he tried. It’s funny because you have an image in your head of what your impending baby will look like, but you of course can’t predict nature. I had the most disgusting indigestion whilst pregnant, I couldn’t eat past 5 and everything bar water made me feel like my oesophagus was eroding.                                              The old wives tale states that those who suffer with this tedious symptom will have a baby with a glorious head of hair. Little Romey has far from that. He has these tiny little wisps of light brown hair on his crown and quite a Max from the Tweenies hairline. In fact I could probably tie the bits of hair at the back of his head into mini ponytail but we are still waiting on the rest! His complexion is much more like mine than his beautiful dad’s. He’s fair and was born with slate grey eyes, which have now turned to a striking shade of hazel. He constantly looks surprised and when he’s wrapped up in the sling it looks like I’m cuddling a little bush baby. He has the exact replica of his dad’s nose though in tiny form and juicy lips complete with a defined bow.

Genetics is a seriously complex bit of science, way above my GCSE level but yet I’ve found myself faced with self taught geneticists. Even those who I would have considered myself close with have made insensitive remarks in regards to the difference in appearance of No and Ro. 

“He’s so white”

 “Do you think he’ll get darker?” 

“He could pass as a white baby”

My favourite incident actually took place in the rather minging post office near ours.                               Our grumpy old neighbour who looks quite a bit like Deirdre Barlow hadn’t seen me since I was heavily pregnant and although she never manages to do anything but grunt in my direction, was pretty brash in the queue and pulled back the rain cover of Ro’s pram and stuck her face right into the carry cot. She quickly sprung back up, looked at me, look at No and then back at Ro again. She shook her head and I realised quickly that it was because she clearly didn’t think that Ro too was mixed race. There I standing as if nothing was wrong with my baby who I had clearly tricked my partner (who she sees leave for work every morning) into believing he was the father of, because this fairer child could not possibly be of ethnic background. Fool.                                                          I gave her the biggest grin and said see ya then! It did make me quite cross because actually he is so like his dad, but people can always surprise you with how ignorant they are.

Still, I’m rather happy she didn’t get her grubby little hands on him.

4 thoughts on “Genetics

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