The boy is mine.

My son favors his father in the looks department. And that's just putting it mildly. He's got none of the light eyed, light skinned, light haired blandness that runs in my family. Instead, he's a veritable Mini-me of my husband, with black eyes that get him noticed everywhere. People can't help but remark on just how much he resembles his Dad. Never mind that I carried him in my belly and thrust him out into this world with blood and lots of pain. The two minutes work that CtlG did to bring him here somehow has a deeper brand. To be honest, I can't fault people for noticing. A few times I've wondered if perhaps I completely hallucinated that whole pregnancy thing and Munchkin just sprang forth from CtlG's rib. They look that similar.

And yes, he looks that unlike me.

But today, as we were getting ready to go out for dinner, I knew without a doubt that a good chunk of me is in that kid. The TV was on for background noise -- MTV, in the hopes that Munchkin's new favorite song, The Sweet Escape (or, as it's known in our house, "Ooo-hoo, Wee-hoo") would come on. It didn't but he was happy for the background noise as he played with some Matchbox cars. But then, out of nowhere, the video for the Sex Pistols' God Save the Queen came on. My kid stopped, walked up to the television until his face was mere inches away, and watched the whole video as if he were going through some type of religious exultation. And when it was over, and he finally could break the spell and turn back to me, he looked me right in the eye and said, "Again." Then when I tried to explain that I couldn't make it play again because it was MTV, he started to throw a fit that was only fixed when I got out my old Never Mind the Bollocks CD. As I type this, he's spraypainting anarchy signs on the couch and trying to drink enough apple juice so he can go take a piss on our proletariat neighbor's new patio set.

Oh yeah. He's definitely my kid.