The Apple (Finally) Didn’t Fall Far From The Tree

Hallelujah, evidence Lucas is actually related to me.  Carrying him in my body for 41 weeks, blood tests, and witnessing him emerge from my vagina was not quite enough evidence for me to prove Lucas was actually mine, I needed more proof.

 You see, Lucas looks nothing like me.  To me Lucas doesn’t look like my husband either, but that is a post for another day.  According to the masses though, Lucas looks just like Ettore and my step-son Reilly.   Lucas looks so little like me, that if men could get pregnant and carry a child, I might insist that Ettore had a secret affair, and then when HE delivered and had HIS vagina shredded like pulled pork tell HIM that birth was just pushing and “some pressure”. Just saying.  Sorry, daydream.  Back to how Lucas doesn’t look like me.

Lucas looks like he is not related to me.  That was until tonight, when we went to dinner at a steakhouse.

 The complete extent of my DNA in my child came pouring out.

When the food arrived…my son did a dance.

MY BOY! Evidence my genetic line has been passed on to my son!  When food arrives, whether it be Subway or the latest five star restaurant I am overcome with happiness and the desire to do a little jig.   I often sing the name of the food I am about to eat as well.  Corn Beef makes me particulary melodious, and I channel my inner Whitney Houston ever time goat cheese hits the table.  Lucas is a chip off the old block (of cheese). Tonight when his Jr. Steak was delivered we both started rocking and rolling.  No DNA test required now, ever time we eat together I will know Lucas is my son…whether or not he has my eyes.

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