Every time we look at you we're astounded by how big you are. The clothes you once drowned in, are now too tight on you. You can now sit on Pater's arm without lolling around like a, well, um, a new born baby. Truly you have turned into a giant Avocado Hass. Perhaps we should rename you Avocado Anaheim or Avocado Fuerte which dwarf the smaller Hass specie?
But far from being proud of your rapid growth, I got worried. Are you growing too quickly? The words of friends with older kids began ringing in my ears:
"Enjoy them while you can, it won't last forever"
"They grow up so fast"
"Before you know it she'll be leaving home"
How long will it be before you're too big for me to pick up and hold? You now bathe in a seat in the bath but how long before you outgrow that? Any minute now you're going turn to me and hiss those words every Pater dreads, "Dad, go away, you're embarassing me!"
But just before I passed out from anxiety, Mater came to the rescue and showed me some recent photos and a video that showed you're just not that big. I'm relieved; you may be bigger than when you were born three months ago but you're still my little Hass Avocado.
Avocado Jnr and her cousin (older by a year)
Avocado Jnr and Ursula the Bear
Avocado Jnr on Grandma Toronto's sofa
It has been some time since I've posted, but during my absence you, Avocado Jr, have been growing and smiling and laughing and cooing. You're just amazing! But, as you grow and continue to change, it's interesting to watch people's immediate reaction to meeting you. Without fail, the first question is: "Who does she look like?"
Now, of course, I could sit and debate that question for hours and not just because I enjoy talking. When it comes to my Avocado Jr I can discuss, cogitate, muse, chat and deliberate, ad nauseum. But since you're as cute as apple pie with large eyes, long eyelashes, beautiful Cupid's Bow lips and an adorable button nose, how to answer? Modesty would suggest a shrug and a humble, "I'm not sure" or "Pure pater". But I'm an extremely competitive person by nature, and there's a constant struggle to say "Me, me, me!" and thereby win the fictional race.
Others instantly answer their own question by choosing sides, always in a most emphatic manner (usually the same people who were 150% sure that you were going to be a boy when I was pregnant). "Oh she's a carbon copy of you" or "I only see Pater" or "She's definitely a Hass". Or still... "When she turns her head 75 degrees to the right and flutters her eyelashes up in the air, while sticking out her tongue and holding one hand slightly above her chin, she totally looks like you...but upside down, clearly Pater."
And still there are those that are on the fence and dissect your face as though you were Mrs. Potato Head and your features could be pulled out, played with and then re-inserted.
Pater's no help either. Despite an ability to decipher most babies' genealogies based on the shape of their nose, when it comes to you he's clueless and keeps asking if you are really his. He begrudgingly concedes that your large eyes and full lips are from me, but as for the rest of you, he's as clueless as the old yenta at the bakery who looked distraught when she couldn't decide who you looked like.
At this point in the blog I should be writing, I don't care who you look like and as long as you're healthy, happy and beautiful, I'm content. But there's that competitive streak again and so I think, with almost one hundred per cent certainty that you are pure ME, ME, ME!
(Disclaimer: The poor quality of this clip is due to the person holding the camera, not Avocado Jr. In other words, PATER!)
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