Peeps,
A while back my Auntie Sarah zipped into town via the train and brought along these pictures of a baby moi, circa 1982-ish.
Which would make me about the age that Ben is now.
Think we're related?
[Evidently I thought the gravel outside my grandpa's house was seriously fascinating. ]
I look at these pictures, particularly at the shape of my jaw (and those fat baby cheeks), and think: dang gina, I guess The Bambino really is my offspring.
Take a peek for yourself.
Like there was any doubt. Let me think back to those wee morning hours, sans epidural, in which I birthed that child. Right. He's mine. I'm not likely to forget that experience any time soon.
And there definitely was no switching of babies at the hospital, of that I am sure.
And then she included this gem of me playing clarinet with my grandfather. Pretty sure my t-shirt could double as a dress. Glad I wasn't going through the phase where I wore glasses that were the size of (and thickness) of dinner plates. In case I ever get too big for my britches, please direct me back to this picture, peeps.
xxoo,
Sonja
