Lizzie loves being the same as me. If we're wearing anything common in colour, doing anything in a remotely similar way, she's quick to point it out and say, with excitement, "samesies."
Even if it's just that she's wearing socks with a pink polka dot on them and I'm wearing a shirt with a pink stripe in it, she's quick to call it! She loves to tell me that our hair is samesies when we're both sporting pony tails; that the palms of ours hands and soles of our feet are samesies because they're all peachy-coloured; that the way we hold our forks is samesies. She wishes that our skin colour was samesies, but is content for now that we both have black eye lashes and longish earlobes and big tummies made for cuddling.
On Friday afternoon, someone else made a samesies kinda comment about Lizzie and me.
I was at the grocery store, doing a big shop. Matthew was at his art class, and I had Seth and Lizzie with me. We were standing at the seafood counter, waiting for our salmon fillets to be seasoned, when the woman waiting next to me smiled at me. She gestured towards the kids.
"Cute kids," she said.
"Thanks," I answered.
"Are they yours?" she asked.
"Yup," I answered. "All mine."
"I thought so," she said. I looked at her and raised my eyebrows, wondering why she'd think that.
She pointed to Lizzie. "She looks so much like you."
Huh? I think my jaw dropped. Really. She was dead serious, looking straight at me. I stared at her for a moment and, rather unusually, didn't know exactly what to say. Around me I could feel people looking at me, then looking at Lizzie, then at the woman, then back to me.
After that very pregnant pause, I said: "Well, thank you. That's a lovely compliment, because I think my daughter is beautiful!"
"Samesies!!!" Lizzie shouted just as I spoke; she threw her arms around me and jiggled me about as she jumped up and down. "Mommy!! We're samesies!!"
"Yes, my darling. Yes, we are. Samesies," I answered. I don't know who was beaming more.
Samesies. And so we are, my daughter and I. And so we are.