As it sinks in we really are related

It was one of those perfect, sunny weekends where you... erm… follow your child a round with a camera …

… and capture the sights of Stratford-upon-Avon.

Such was the sunshine and the positive mood I even, for a brief moment, found myself attracted to the art of Morris dancing.

Only after the event did it occur to me that a photograph would have worked well in this section of a blog post, but I was in offline mode so the opportunity passed me by. There was a lot of white clothing, bells and wooden sticks, you can picture the scene.

We were in Stratford for a 70th birthday and a family reunion. Relatives gathered, there was food, conversation and more than a little reminiscing. Some people drank a lot of wine.

The highlight for me was not the chance to socialise with others but the chance to play with my cousin’s ipad 2 until, alas; he took it back home on a plane to Ireland. I still miss it.

IJ, soon to be eight, was seen by many relatives for the first time since she was a tiny toddler with a mop of golden hair. So I was proud to show her off and she was proud to be at my side.

Okay. I made that last bit up slightly.

There were numerous comments, all complimentary, on IJ’s appearance and the overwhelming opinion was that she looks like me.

I was touched and secretly delighted.

On hearing this, IJ suddenly became a little quiet.

For a few minutes she said nothing, her face giving little away until she suddenly remarked,

“Mummy, I am a little bit sad.”

Bless.

We've had words.

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Bless her. When my second daughter was a toddler, people starting commenting on how much she looks like me (she does) and my then husband said 'don't worry, we can save up for plastic surgery for her.' Did I mention we're now divorced?

Posted by: notSupermum | April 14, 2011 at 04:52 PM