Do not read this…

…if you feel faint or are offended at the thought of female nudity. Especially lactating female nudity.

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There is something vaguely reminiscing in this second female child compared to the first male child. Something similar and encouraging that these two tiny children are in fact related to each other.

Because you see, they look NOTHING like each other.

The boy is dark. He has straight brown hair, dark brown eyes, mile-long eyelashes, and unblemished, easily tanned, dark skin.

The girl, 4 months young, is the complete opposite. She currently has darkblondlightbrownreddish hair, or spots of hair, which shows promise of perhaps a little bit of curl. Or wave. She has dinnerplatehuge eyes. And they are BLUE. And grey. But mostly blue. She has long, but lightly coloured eyelashes, and barely-there eyebrows. She has fair skin, with a hint of pink and some red blotches. She has dry spots, red spots, pink spots, and other spots. Everywhere. She has little rashes all over the place that come and go. She will not tan. She will probably burn.

Those are the physical differences.

But one of the few similarities that I can see at the moment that connects them as immediate family members is their reaction to my breasts.

Yes. That’s right. My lactating breasts.

The girl currently goes apeshit when she sees me changing. Waving arms and legs and grunting noises kind of apeshit.

The boy, when in infancy and nursing, used to do the same. React like a half-starved monkey in a cage. THIS is a horrible image but I can’t come up with something better right now.

The girl reacts this way even when it’s been, oh say, 11 minutes since the last feeding. Or if we’re getting close to the next feeding. Or while feeding.

Completely apeshit. It’s funny and weird and mildly disconcerning.