Ah, genetics. What a crap shoot.
When I was knocked up, I spent many nights wondering which of my charming characteristics my babe might score from my half of the DNA chain. Would he be tall? Have gigantic teeth that need years of orthodontic intervention? Have the ability to tan a deep brown and be skimpy with the sunscreen (which, he clearly won’t do because he has a responsible mom, so no one get upset)?
Or maybe he’ll actually just snag all of my less than desirable characteristics in the Punnett Square gamble. Ugh.
So far, it’s looking like he’s managed to sprout my teeth (and a sizable gap that says “Dad, start saving those HSA funds now, I’m going to need headgear like next year”), my long legs and popped out of the womb a gorgeous shade of peach that demands many layers of sunscreen at the mere thought of sun. But the rest is yet to be determined.
With that in mind, here are the 5 Things I Hope My Son Does Not Inherit From Me
1. Bills, Bills, Bills
Seriously, I think Justin and I were on our second date when I said something along the lines of “just so you know, I’m terrible with money and you’ll need to handle anything that has to do with a budget starting now”. He thought I was kidding. I don’t know what it is (probably my terrible math skills) but I’m just bad at it. There’s no changing me and seeing as it’s clearly a fundamental flaw, I’m hoping my kid avoids it.
I would really be leaving out a major part of the story if I touched on my ridiculously terrible money management skills and not my atrocious math skills. I mean, I literally still count on my fingers sometimes. My brain just doesn’t work that way. I can analyze poetry or write a fifty page research paper but I cannot calculate a sale price for the life of me. It just isn’t there. And, in case you’re wondering, I took one math class in college and just had to pass it to graduate. I’m pretty sure I got a D and was so stoked that I passed. No shame in that game.
3. Coordination Nation
Justin has a nick name for me. It’s Chuck A Puck. Why? Oh you see, we once went on a date to a minor league hockey game in Charlotte (side note: I love hockey, my brother played it growing up and it’s my fave) and we paid a few dollars to earn the right to toss foam hockey pucks from our spot in the stands onto the ice and hopefully into the open sun roof of a moving Mercedes. I stood up, grabbed my foam puck and threw it straight down and into the head of a woman approximately 5 rows in front of us. Hard. Keep in mind, I was trying to throw it over the boards and onto an ice rink. And I threw it straight down. Any time Gray does something remotely uncoordinated, Justin gets this look on his face and says “oh no, Chuck A Puck!” and stares at me like I cursed our son (who is 15 months old and, by default, uncoordinated).
4. Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me
(if you haven’t read that book by Mindy, go ahead and get on that. It’s funny)
I have a major issue with the thought of missing out. As I’ve gotten older, I am more concerned with missing out on sleep than being out at the best restaurant or hot spot but there was a time when I would pass up rest, a night off, a meal, whatever to be out and about at all of the right places. Or worse, I would say no thanks and then spend the entire evening wondering if everyone was having just the best time ever without me. Inside jokes? Nope, can’t have that. Pics without me in them? Oh hell no. I hope my son can be cool with who he is in the moment and rock it out, even if that means telling someone that he’s going to save his pennies, recharge his batteries and make the reasonable choice to stay in and watch Big Bang re-runs. And then not give AF that he did so.
5. Haters Gonna Hate
I think that there are people in this world who honestly do not care what other people think about them. I don’t know if such a person really exists, but I can assure that I am not one of them. It may be a side effect of putting myself out there all of the time (I’m like this in real life, too) but I sorta feel like “here I am!” and then worry that people are like “uh, who you are is whack.” Yep, I said whack. You should have seen the meltdown that occurred after I took a peek at the comments section of my Scary Mommy post. Ugh. All I can say is that it is my genuine wish that my son is confident in who he is, knows what he stands for, is kind and isn’t concerned with the petty things in life. Much unlike his mother, who cannot seem to shake that crazy crap.
While I bring a hot mess of personality and genetic, um, components to the table, I do hope that Gray learns and inherits some things from me – I hope he isn’t afraid to speak in public (did you know more Americans are afraid of public speaking than death? Say what, now.), that he has the confidence to be a leader and that he has the ability to always make others feel welcome in his home. I know for certain that laughing at himself will get him far in life and knowing how to give genuine compliments will get him even farther. Hang with me kid, I’ve got you covered.
And, also, while I’m being optimistic, I hope to high Heaven that he inherits his daddy’s metabolism.