"I hope he has my ridiculously good-looking physique," Grahm says.
"Not to mention your glowing humility," I'll add.
There are tons of things about myself I really hope our child doesn't inherit (my anal retentiveness, my need to control everything, my midget size) but who wants to read that list? Oops, you kinda just did. Grahm thinks I focus too much on the negative parts of myself, so to prove him wrong (something I thoroughly enjoy doing), I've made a list of things I desperately hope our kid inherits from me ... everything else can come from my baby daddy.
1. Eating. No, I'm not talking about wanting to eat broccoli for breakfast or anything else as sickenly healthy. (I wouldn't wish that upon any child of mine.) I mean that I can wharf down anything and everything like it's my last meal. (I'm a Roach, dontcha know.) There are only a few meals I won't eat, and it's more of "I'd rather not" than won't. Think about how amazing it would be if this crossed over to Baby Roach. If I never had to have the "Jimmy, eat your dinner!" conversation, I may have a 500-pound toddler but he'd be a happy chunk.
2. Sleeping. I'm not good at many things, but I can out-slumber a bear in the middle of winter. Take last night for example. 10 o'clock. (We're a swell time.) Exhausted. (24 going on Grandma Betty.) Do I go about my normal bedtime routine? Nope. Forget the makeup wipes, the moisturizer, the eye cream. My bed was drawing me near like a moth to its bundle of cozy love. I abandoned my toothbrush, dry and unused on the counter. I even left my contacts in my eyewinkers... All for the sake of getting asleep as fast as possible. Who cares that I aged 7 days, had especially kick-you-in-the-crotch fantastic breath this morning (lucky Grahm), and couldn't see anything because my contacts had crumpled and dried faster than a wart under Biofreeze (not that I would know or anything...). I slept over 8 glorious hours. Future kids, take note.
3. Cleaning. Say whatever you want about my house, but it's as clean as my future baby's rumposaurus. I know where everything is. I put everything away after I use it, ya know, where it actually belongs. (Grahm was really confused when we first got married because his stuff wouldn't be where he last left it. "Babe! Where's my belt? It was right here on the floor...") My kids don't necessarily have to stick to my rigid cleaning schedule every week, but wouldn't it be wonderful if they thought cleaning was fun? "Mommy, let me clean for you" or "Mom, I already made my bed and did the dishes. You don't have to ask me, remember?" (Is it pathetically sad that these are the things I dream about?)
Baby Roach, we will love you no matter how much you eat or sleep or clean. But it'd be great if you took after your mommy on this one. We all know your daddy is picky, messy, and a hogger of the blankets. (But it's okay, we love him anyway.)