Daddy's Girl

Infantile defecation is a big deal in our house. For one thing, it's not quiet. For another, it signals victory.

"Honey!" we shout. "She's pooping! She's pooping!"

It signals the baby is healthy. That she's had enough to eat. That she will not blow away with the next passing breeze. This is a victory we celebrate every day. Sometimes twice. We change her diapers and we're thrilled.

Now, Dave and I have been hearing From. Everybody. since the moment she appeared in this world that she is his IdenticalTwinMiniMeCarbonCopyClone. We smile and shrug and say Thanks! but neither of us have ever been able to see it. Until yesterday.

The baby was nursing. She started making her bright red I'm-working-very-hard-on-something-down-there face. With her signature extremely-loud evacuation in the pants, she looked up at me in delight and gave me the hugest goofiest happiest grin I've ever seen on a human face. Except for her dad's. In that moment she could not have looked more identical to him. I finally saw what everyone was talking about. It was like she transplanted his head onto her minuscule body for that one moment of glee.

How appropriate that their moment of one-ness was prompted by toilet humor.