Just Like Mama

“You look just like your father.”

“You're daddy's little girl.”

“You're your father's daughter alright.”

I listened as those phrases were aimed at me time and time again. Like a lullaby, they made me weary, but it was always like that.

Ever since I could remember I was always compared to my father. My hair, my eyes, certain personality traits. They were all akin to his. It was as though I didn't have anything of my own...or even of my mother.

Never had I once heard.

“You look so much like your mama.”

Nor.

“Like mother, like daughter.”

It pained me, because not only was I tired of being compared to my papa...but I also wanted to be just like my mama.

She was strong and relentless. Kind and beautiful. Caring and wonderful. All the things I admired and wanted to be. Not that it was bad being compared to papa. He was like a role model for me too. Determined and dependable. Handsome and hardworking. But still, he wasn't my mama.

Hair as pink as Japanese Cherry Blossoms; I've seen it at various lengths. Eyes of a jade green colour, always softened when approaching me. My mother was prettier than flowers, nicer and stronger than anyone I knew...

Then why can I never be compared to her?

Such things always made me weary when meeting papa's friends. Being that they'd always come up with an overused comparison between father and daughter. It was as though I only belonged to him, like I wasn't born to another also.

But then, how does she feel about all this?

Having everyone point out all the prominent features that your child and husband shared and never mentioning you. Watching as your child's first word turned out to be 'Papa'. And having to watch her grow to be more like him day by day.

I felt guilt coil in the pit of my stomach. I hadn't given a thought about how my mom felt...but it wasn't my fault. I couldn't control the way I was. Though the last thing I wanted to do was add to my mama's pain.

“Up we go,” Papa said lifting me from the seat where I sat before the dresser.

“Do you think she'll like it?” I asked nervously as he carried me downstairs.

“I'm sure she'll love it,” he said tapping my nose which made me giggle. “But can you tell me why you wanted this?”

I looked away for a moment, “everyone always compares me to you. I want to be like mama too.”

Papa stopped when we reached the living room and sat with me on his lap. “Want me to tell you a secret?”

I pouted, “but if you tell me, then it's not a secret anymore.”

He chuckled, “how much more like your mama do you want to be? You already sound just like her.”

I smiled, “well, what's the secret?”

“The secret is that you're a lot like your mom actually,” he said looking at me.

I frowned, “how?”

He pursed his lips, “for one, you both love papa.” I furrowed my eyebrows and he continued. “You both are very beautiful. You're strong willed just like her. Kind hearted and caring. You even have her weird speech pattern.”

“It's not weird papa,” I said.

“Okay, okay. But the point is, you don't have to look like her to be like her. You inherited alot from the both of us, but all that doesn't matter, because in the end, you're you.”

I grinned as the door opened and the lady in waiting walked in. “Oh, you two—”

“Happy birthday!” we both exclaimed at the same time. I watched as tears filled her eyes as she stared at us, that is, until she finally noticed.

“Sarada, honey what happened to your hair?” she asked coming to sit beside us.

I hopped off papa's lap and stood before her. “I asked papa to dye it pink...the same colour as your hair.” I said playing with the ends of it.

“B-but why? Didn't you like your black hair?”

I nodded, “but...I wanted to be like you and you have pink hair.”

She chuckled and pulled me closer, “oh honey, you didn't have to dye your hair pink to be like me. It's not always how you look, sometimes it's what's on the inside.”

“I know, papa explained everything to me.”

Mama arched an eyebrow and looked at papa, “oh he did, did he? Did he also tell you that what makes us more alike is the fact that he loves both of us dearly?”

I laughed as I watched my dad blush, “why are we just sitting here. There's cake waiting in the kitchen,” he said getting up. Mom laughed and held my hand, leading me into the kitchen.

So maybe I don't need everyone pointing out how similar my mom and I are. Maybe they just have a hard time seeing what I just realized. That in more ways than one, I'm just like mama.

|♥|

Thanks for reading ✋