When Genes stare back at you.

When it comes to genepool - the conversation surrounding my daughter goes something like this:

"She's Jon with a wig.  No really, who knew he could be pretty?"  Or "She's acting just like Jon did.. or Uncle George did.. etc, etc."  Or "Cute kid - do we know who her mother is?"  It was only slightly irritating for the first two years, but I KNEW my day would come.  The day that I could stand on the top of a roof and yell, undeniably, "SHE'S MINE!"

Well, here it is.  I finally saw my reflection this morning.  The kid can't make a decision to save her life.  She's got my..... INDECISION!

She can't choose an outfit.  She can't choose a Backyardigans episode.  She can't choose a toy - she wants them ALL OUT and cries when I try to put one back.  No seriously, she's paralyzed when I ask her to make a choice.  

I wouldn't have noticed this, except that I think I've bought every picture frame in the Mobile metropolitan area trying to make a decision for a wall grouping.  And then last night, I changed my mind.  Again.  And then I recognized her panic when it was time to start the DVR.  Is it "Race Around The World?"   Is it "Riding the Range?"  Is it "The Key to the Nile?"  Silence.  For two minutes she stared.  If I could give her any piece of advice it would be... wow, I got nothing.

The only thing that makes me feel better about any of this is to label it as delayed perfectionism.  That sounds so much better than horrific procrastination or delinquent resolve, or even... "AAAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHH!"

The good news is, she came around to "Riding the Range".  After I'd left the room and she felt the pressure.  Yup, she's mine.