Oh my! They look just like their daddy!

Would you look at that? Little Sean carbon copies.

Well, aren’t you both just daddy’s little girls?

Striking resemblance to the father.

I just can’t get over how much they look like him.

Thank you world, because the 9+ months I carried each girl were so fun I didn’t want them to take after me at all.

Nope, the privilege of weight gain, mood swings, break out, relentless burping, incessant peeing and a more sensitive sense of smell than usual were all prize enough.

No need for family resemblance here. Let them look like the person who stayed slim, lost weight even, dozed at points during the first labor experience and who never had to slip a twin size matress in his underwear to protect hideous granny panties from post delivery “stuff.”

Well guess what? Before they slipped out of this here mini-Sean vending machine, they picked something up from me, and it wasn’t rhythm.

Behold the bouncing to the beat of their own drum rhythm gene.

PS I’m kidding, I loved being pregnant and I see myself in them every day, no mattee what anyone else says. But c’mon, throw me a bone every once in a while.