Last year I wrote a post about how I’m becoming my Dad and how that, despite the weird foibles I was starting to acquire, I accepted it as a good thing. Now, the same thing seems to be happening with the next generation as Dylan is slowly turning into me. If I were him though, I wouldn’t be quite so chuffed. Poor lad!
It’s weird really; he looks much more like Kate but is a proper little mini me – well, in terms of the traits of mine I’m less proud of anyway.
It’s like having a strange kind of time-warping mirror thrust in my face. I’m seeing some of my most cringeworthy attributes being mimicked in miniature by my unfortunate son.
He’s gained some of my better qualities too, of course. People have said I’m creative and a good communicator on LinkedIn recommendations, for example – so it must be true! – and Dylan definitely has those skills in the proverbial locker. So I hope they compensate for some of the embarrassing ones that are to follow.
He’s definitely got my obsessive streak for starters. He’s very precise with his toys and always knows exactly where his things are. Everything has to be in order – toys, books, the sequences of his routines… the lot. This is definitely my fault.
As a child – okay, okay – for as long as I can remember, I’ve been exactly the same. Then there’s the Lady Macbeth-like urge to wash his hands after the slightest contact with anything that could remotely be described as dirty.
As a young child, I couldn’t bear my mits getting grubby. I don’t mind now, but am still overzealous when it comes to visiting the sink. As is little man with demanding baby wipes. Oh dear.
He’s also a very sensitive little soul. When I was little, there was an advert for some kind of insurance service in which the three ornate ducks of increasing sizes that we were supposed to believe that every home had, fell off the wall. This commercial was guaranteed to upset me. There would be tears every time.
When Dylan sees any similar form of mild peril on the TV he is exactly the same. It starts with a concerned countenance and sudden absence of his usual cheerful demeanour. If it gets to the point where he utters the phrase “Oh dear…” that’s it.
He’ll be inconsolable for a good few minutes. Things falling over, characters bumping into each other, cake being destroyed… that kind of thing. I’m with him on the last point, mind. Watching The Adventures of Abney and Teal has become something of a lottery.
So, Dylan, I’m sorry you’re inheriting the characteristics of mine that I’m less fond of, but at least you don’t have my nose.
Do you ever see any of your unflattering personality traits in your kids?