Presenting my doppelganger...

Aww, ain't she cute? And here I promised I wouldn't be THAT aunt--you know, the one who posts pictures up and boasts about how damn cute her first-born niece is.

Now at just over a month old, living with Bowie has revealed to me that she is, in fact, my clone. I've discovered some eerie similarities between the two of us that I just know her mom will blame me for passing on:

• We both eat too damned fast.
• We both whine and cry when we want to eat more but can't because we're too full.
• We both swallow air when we eat and, as a result, get painfully bad gas.
• We both love Uncle (white) John to hug and kiss us better.
• We're both easily distracted by shiny objects.
• We both need to eat every three hours or so.
  
• We both babble incoherently to anyone in the room, and fuss when not enough attention is being paid to us.
• In a choice between burping and flatulence, we'd both pick the latter.
• We both like to be swaddled like a burrito at bedtime.
• We both go through a lot of laundry.
  
• Passing gas is our favourite passtime, next to eating and sleeping.
• We both smell like baby: she because she is one, I because I eat them.
  

There are, of course, some marked differences between adult me and baby clone Bowie:

• Her burps are heartily encouraged. Mine are just frowned at.
• Her farts elicit delighted cries and praise. Mine clear the room.
• When she craps her pants, people smilingly clean her up and appraise the quality and quantity of mess she's made, making it dinner conversation. When I...you know, I'm not going there.
• When she's upset and crying inconsolably, she gets a boob shoved into her face. When I'm upset and crying inconsolably, I'm lucky if anyone hands me a beer.
• When she spits up, it's a cause for concern. When I spit up, it's a waste of food and usually an embarrassingly laughable moment.
• When everyone's staring at her in awe, she basks in love and sleeps peacefully. When everyone's staring at me in awe, I start rocking back and forth in paranoia and usually scream "STOP LOOKING AT ME!" at the top of my lungs.