At nearly 6 months old, it looks like our little one-quarter Chinese, three-quarters assorted European heritage baby has won the recessive gene lottery of sorts. He’s still got those baby blue eyes, fine reddish-blonde hair and a skin tone so pale I’d call the shade “translucent chalk.”
In Thailand we took to calling our pale little Scandinavian-looking baby “Sven,” as we tried mightily to keep him coated in sunscreen. Admittedly, he might look a little more Irish than Norwegian but Sven seemed funnier at the time than calling him Patrick.
While I think, deep down, before he was born, we were looking forward to seeing some of his Asian heritage play out across his features, now that he’s here, we just love him to bits the way he is. My mother has blue eyes (and red hair) and Chris’ dad also has blue eyes, so his looks don’t come out of nowhere. They just aren’t the looks we assumed he’d inherit. And that’s ok, in fact, its more than ok, we think he’s beautiful.
When we are out and about in Chengdu, we sometimes overhear people studying our family and declaring that obviously my husband is not the father of our son. In this homogeneous country where the language doesn’t even have words for hair and eye-color, it probably seems inconceivable that our white-looking son could have a half-Chinese man for a father.
But he does and even if the busybody types can’t see the resemblances between them, I do.
Will sneezes in pairs, just like his Daddy does. He is grumpy and dazed early in the morning, just like his Daddy. And when I look at baby photos of Chris and Will side-by-side, I see such striking similarities in their expressions, it makes me all warm and fuzzy inside.
Chris, about 5 months old, in Bangladesh.
And while I might have at one time hoped for a little mini Chris-look-alike to chase after, I’ll gladly take my little Sven-I mean Will, who looks up at me everyday with his Daddy’s smile.