When my son was born, almost 4-years ago, he came into the world looking just like his Dad.
Right down to the shape of his knees, the curl of his lip and even the kink in his hair.
As Zachy has gotten older, I have noticed more physical similarities between them.
The peachiness of his bottom, the curve of his back, and the way that he runs with both arms dangling loosely by his side.
They have the same soft brown eyes and the same skinny calves.
Although, I am told, his smile is all mine.
He also seems to have inherited a fair few of his father’s other characteristics too.
Like, he can be a bit loud.
The Greek God(zilla) is completely oblivious to how far his voice can carry and it would appear so is his son, as was no more apparent than on a recent trip to Sainsbury’s (or the ‘big shop’, if you are 3).
They took turns to shout ‘NO, I’M SPIDERMAN’ to each other and ‘I’M GOING TO EAT YOU, SPIDEY’ and ‘NO DON’T EAT ME, DADDY’ and ‘HERE COMES DR. OCTOPUS’, and when people started looking around to see who they belonged to, I buried my head in the cold meats aisle.
He can also be a bit obsessive.
There can be a pile of dirty pants by the side of the Greek God(zilla)’s side of the bed, covered in iPad leads, remote controls, phone chargers and old Cricketer magazines, and he will step over them every single night and not bat an eyelid.
However, one used coffee cup in the sink is enough to have him reaching for the marigolds and bleaching the entire kitchen.
Zachy is starting to show similar tendencies. He will think nothing of emptying his entire collection of cars onto the floor, but the tiniest drop of water on his t-shirt will have him insisting on a complete change of clothes.
A stray crumb landing on his trousers will lead to cries of ‘GET IT OFF MUMMY, GET.IT.OFF!’ as though a giant spider has just crawled up onto his lap.
The Greek God(zilla) is known for always losing things. It might be keys, his phone, his glasses or his coat. He’ll look for about 30-seconds before calling out to me to help him find said item, which I usually do… as it is always right there under his nose.
Last week, Zachy called me with quite some urgency from his playroom. I discarded chopping the veg and ran to his side to find out what could possibly be so wrong. He looked up from where he was happily playing with his cars and said ‘I can’t find the blue train, Mummy’.
I pointed it out for him instantly as it was only situated about 2 ft away from where he was sitting.
‘Can you get it for me please, Mummy?’
Well, at least he said please, I suppose.
They both have an insatiable sweet tooth. If there is any chocolate in the house, they will both obsess over it until every last piece has been devoured. The Greek God(zilla) will sometimes get up out of bed in the middle of the night because he swears he can hear a chocolate hobnob calling out to him.
Zachy will use it as a negotiation tactic when I ask him to get dressed/brush teeth/put shoes on… ‘chocolate?’
They both like to ask me if their white/superman* t-shirt is clean (*delete as applicable).
And, they love to roll around on the floor, pretending to be superheroes locked in battle. Ultimately, the Greek God(zilla) will tickle him too hard, or kiss him too much and Zachy will fake tears and call ‘MUMMY, I WANT MUMMY!’
‘He’s such a Mummy’s boy’ the Greek God(zilla) will say as he hands him over to me.
I will nod in agreement.
Just like his dad.
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