Not His Nanny

When they placed him in my arms, I forgot all the pain I had endured for 16 long hours to bring him into this world. The first thing I did was to count all of his little fingers and toes. As beautiful and perfect as he could be, my only thought was that he looked nothing like me; and in my delirious state, I asked the nurse if she was positive she gave me the right baby — six other women had given birth that day. But of course, I knew he was mine; I was just disappointed he didn’t look much like me. After all… I did all the hard work and dad got all the glory. 😉 I guess I was expecting some credit for having to endured 9 months of weight gain, emotional turbulence, bloated feet, morning sickness, and the excessive craving for Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia ice cream — among other crazy food cravings — like eating 10 pounds of navel oranges in two days.

Being a new mom was quite an amazing experience to say the least; however, adding the inter-racial aspect of the child was amusing but not without challenges from the society. I discovered I wasn’t the only one who questioned my son’s relation to me. Some people had mistaken me as his nanny. When Dean was about 6 months old, and we were in the grocery story — a woman came up to us and gushed about how adorable he is. She then said to me “What a beautiful baby, I bet his mother must be really proud.” Surprised but humored by her remark, I just smiled and told her “Oh yes, his mom is very proud.” Or the time when we celebrated his 2nd birthday at a friend’s house in Canada and were detained by the border agents because they did not believe Dean was my kid. But the most memorable moment was when I enrolled him in school and had to check the infamous “Race” box on the application. I checked all that applied to him but was told I could only check one. After much debate, they finally relented and allowed me to check more than one box.

The last 18 years passed by a lot quicker than I have anticipated. Look at him now… all grown up. Although sometimes, I still find myself studying his features; looking for some resemblance to me. Hmm… I think he has my cheekbones… and maybe the bottom lip? 🙂

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8 Comments on “Not His Nanny

  1. These are wonderful photos, Emily! Of course I believe he looked like you from the very beginning – he was and is beautiful!

    Thanks for coming to and subscribing to my site – I’m not nearly so talented a photographer as you! I’m a rank amateur, having only a “point and shoot,” and I just started my passion for it last Spring. But I have dreams of improving, and of finally affording the Konica DSLR I’ve been wanting!

    • Thank you so much Paula for your nice comment. I think you are doing great with your “point and shoot”. You have a very interesting blog. I look forward to reading it. Keep shooting and your dream will come true. 🙂

  2. What a great post and, I can somewhat relate Emily. When my son was born, he had a full head of BLOND hair (I am a Native American)…very very strange to see a native kid with blond hair! The mud picture made both Amy and I laugh, what a great shot!

    • The mud/dirty face type of pictures are my favorite photos to shoot, and I have a lot of those. This one in particular is pricess. I was making a garden and when I got back from making lunch, they had flooded the garden and made mud. Of course, like any responsible mom; I ran and got the camera and told them to have fun.

      Blond hair! That would be a strange sight. Although, I’ve known people who were born blond but turn into brown hair as an adult. It is difficult to predict what the child will look like with inter-racial relationships. Dean is a combination of 1/2 Chinese (as far as I know, I am all Chinese), 1/8 Appachi Indian, and the rest: German, English, and I believe Irish. He tells most people think he is either Hispanic decent, or Native American. As far as I am concerned — he is handsome and intelligent. 🙂

    • Thank you Kathy. Yes, I agree he is a good-looking young man. I’m very proud to be his mom, even if he doesn’t look much like me. 🙂

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