I, of course, would like to believe that my parents adored me. I was their only child after all. How could they not? I dream that they bought me beautiful dresses and bathed me in kisses. There is no proof of my theory, though, since no photos exist.
I wonder do I have my father's nose? My mother's eyes? Maybe I look like both of them evenly. I imagine my mother pushing me in a carriage too all the neighbors showing me off. She looks just like me, she would say. Such a proud mother.
When I look at pictures in magazines of mothers or fathers with their children, I wish I knew what it was like to have my own parents.