Up until now I feel the only thing my daughter physically inherited from me were stunning brown eyes and these bad boys:

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Oh, for those that can’t tell it’s a pic of my daughter’s eyelashes. Yah. Nice long ones that puts her mother’s pair to shame. But of course that isn’t something a grown man tells people. “Well she’s got her daddy’s tanned skin…every other day. She’s having a ‘white’ day today however. Oh and she has her dad’s long eyelashes….no not her mother’s…”

Her full head of hair is likely Indian-borne as well, but that just isn’t enough to fend off a paternity test. And the random personality similarities can be chalked up to mere coincidence after a week spent at home together. Heck, she seemed to yell, if you want to call it that, at the cat randomly as the cat just lay there in Baby Rangirl’s line of sight. That’s not an inherited trait, it’s just something you do to the cat in anticipation of her next move like knocking down the bottle of nasal spray you forgot to put away.

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Yell at me? Oh, I’ll getchu back, kid

The only other trait I see so far that proves this kid is mine is the main reason she still won’t be able to sit up yet: her tiny butt. Now I know that sucker will fill out in due time, especially with all those fun hormones chicken contains nowadays. But for now, that scrawny little thing is like looking in a mirror to this little Indian rear. Poor kid will kill me if she does end up will a small rump. Heck, to this day I blame my father for mine.

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