Perfectly Mixed

When I pictured what our daughter would look like I hoped she would have my eye shape and my husband's eye color. He has very wide, stunning blue eyes. They were the first thing I noticed when I saw him, and still one of my favorite physical qualities of his.

Yours

I like the almond shape of my eyes though, and thought they'd look striking in a lighter color on our little girl.

But what do you know, she got the exact opposite. And they couldn't be cuter.

Last week I was in a hair shop buying some rollers when another black woman walked in and asked the man behind the counter if they sold color contacts. I stood by and watched as he pulled the case of display contacts out from their hiding space under the register, and watched as the woman looked them over.

She was beautiful. When she looked up I noticed she had lighter eyes than mine. Very light. And based on her purchase inquiry, they were most likely colored contacts. It reminded me of a phase I went through. Starting in high school, and through most of college I wore gray colored contacts. Grey sounds weird but they looked a pretty hazel when I wore them. I didn't wear glasses, and I didn't need contacts. My vision is perfect. They were strictly cosmetic.

I liked the way they made me look--Different. I stood out, and got compliments almost daily on my "beautiful" eyes.

I wore them when I met my husband, on television, even at our wedding. He preferred I didn't wear them, but I liked them so I kept the habit. It wasn't until I did an internship in Atlanta the summer before I graduated college that I decided to toss them.

There was a reporter I looked up to who took me under his wing. He was the youngest reporter at this powerhouse station, and he also happened to be black. He always told me what he thought straight up, and was never afraid to hold back with me.

I'll never forget what he asked me:

"Why don't you do you?"

"What?" The question caught me off guard. I had no idea what he was talking about.

"Why are you pretending to be someone you're not? You don't need to change the color of your eyes."

I pointed out another reporter at the station who was doing the same thing but he didn't take that as an excuse, and told me I should get rid of them.

So I did.

Mine

The next day I went in for the first time in a long time, with the eyes I was born with.

"See, you have beautiful brown eyes," he told me. "Dark brown eyes, the ones you were given."

Thankfully, we've remained friends over the years and he continues to be a mentor of mine and give me advice when I need it.

That conversation has stuck with me a long time and I often have to check myself and remember to just "do me."

I'm glad I learned this lesson and came to love myself, and my eyes before my daughter was born. Her eyes were light gray for a day, but turned as black as mine by day two.

Ours

They're big and wide like her daddy's and dark like mine. They're mine and his. They're beautiful, and perfectly mixed

I won't make her choose

When I imagined my daughter before she was born I saw her with dark skin and light eyes. Instead she came out light skin with dark eyes. The complete opposite.

I didn't brace myself for the reality of this possibility. The possibility that my daughter could have skin as light as my husband and not look anything like me at first glance. I knew it could happen. I just didn't think it would.

Forever Bliss Photography

Growing up in the south where racial issues are still tense, and the predominant races are black and white, kids were forced to choose sides. It may not have been as obvious as team captains choosing teammates for their kickball team, but it was noticeable, and people would call you out for it.

The black kids hung out with the black kids and the white kids hung out with the white kids. And if you decided to cross the line in the sand you were considered a sort of traitor of your own race. Blacks who had white friends were nicknamed "Oreos" and whites who had black friends were called "Wiggers." I still can't help but feel disgusted toward the terms.

So much in our world is black or white. The gray area is gone. This goes for race too. Especially in our country.

Many are so quick to call President Obama "Black" although he's half white as well. I'll admit I do it. I was one of the women who was so angry when Tiger Woods corrected people when they called him "the first Black golfer to be #1" saying he was the first Thai/Black. Why was he ashamed to be called black?

My husband took the opposing stance. Why should he denounce his mother's side of the family because society says he has to choose?

Back then, there were no if ands or buts about it. My children would choose. And they'd choose their black side. Because that's what they'd look like, and that's what society would label them as anyway. Claiming to be "mixed" felt like a shot at me. As if it wasn't a good thing to be called what I'm called.

But then my daughter was born. Her skin as light as my husbands and eyes as dark as mine. She's a beautiful mix of both of us and I the thought of making her choose one side--My side--seems wrong.

She'll grow up facing questions I never had to deal with. The oh too common "what are you?" question on the playground will come up time and time again. While no harm is intended I can understand how it would feel embarrassing at first, or sound extremely rude to people like me. But the more multiracial people I meet, the more I'm hearing they got used to it, and would just smile and explain.

According to the census bureau, by 2050, minorities will be the majority with the number of mixed-raced children is on the rise. I don't know what it's like to be biracial but I've met some who told me they felt like they had to choose a side in order to fit in, or feel accepted my family members or social groups. A section of this TIME article calls this the "forced-choice dilemma."

It goes on to say that these days mixed-raced children don't feel the need to choose a side but share their background with pride.

Seeing more and more interracial marriages around me, and more mixed-raced children in result, I can see the forced-choice problem as a dying dilemma. I've decided to squash it at my house.

I may choose her dinners, wardrobe, and even try to choose her social circles; but today I've decided I won't make her choose my race over her own.

What Not to Call My Biracial Child

I strolled around the grocery store with my daughter's car seat wedged in the shopping cart. Normally I'd carry her in my wrap but she was peacefully sleeping and I didn't want to wake her.

I got what I needed with little interruption. I'm used to the usual reactions to traveling with a baby. Longing looks, big smiles, and the extremely intrigued who will stop me and ask about my baby. All of those I'm used to dealing with, but the reaction I got as I walked to my car was a first, and hopefully a last.

An elderly woman, much shorter than me came closer. I had the car seat shade pulled down to cover her face from the sunlight, and preferably, people who say things like this woman was about to say to me.

"Can I see?" The woman pointed to my baby hidden below her cover.

Normally, I'm more than excited to show her off, but she was sleeping and I didn't want to wake her. I hesitantly pulled the shade back to let her see my sleeping beauty.

"Oh, she's a half-breed," she said so matter-of-factly.

What? I couldn't have heard her right. I must have misunderstood.

"What?" I asked with a half chuckle, trying to mask my extreme shock.

"A half-breed," she repeated. I had heard right. I couldn't believe it.

I didn't know what to say. So I didn't. And she didn't stop talking.

"Oh, it's ok I have a couple of my own."

Were we talking about people or animals? The conversation obviously was over my head because she couldn't have been talking about my baby. Could she?

I didn't say anything else. I couldn't because I was a little offended.

I worried about what kinds of things I'd run into having a biracial child but had no idea it would start so soon.

My husband commented to me the other day about how when we were together before our daughter came along we got some stares, but now it's multiplied by a thousand. I don't think they're stares of How could they, as much as they are Awww, look at that cute interracial family. At least that's what I tell myself.

It took awhile for the conversation to sink in.--Even if it was one sided. I tried to wrap my brain around it as I got my groceries and baby--Or is she a dog to some?--Into the car. The words burned deeper into my memory. I was fuming. Mostly angry with myself for not having a better comeback on hand.

I've run into similar nicknames like this in the past when people aren't sure what to "call me." Should I say 'Black' 'African American' 'Negro' 'Colored'? I didn't know my daughter would have the same problem.

I told my husband what had happened when I got home and he wasn't as upset as I had expected. As I had hoped.

It made me doubt my emotions. Am I overreacting? Should I just brush it off and go on with my way? Is it just my mama bear instincts to protect my child from ignorance?

No.

I knew things wouldn't be perfect, I thought we may run into issues from time to time, but I prayed the world had gotten better, I pray it'll get better, and I hope I can think on my toes next time to put them in their place.

What Flavor is My Baby?

I've had a few dreams where my baby comes out completely white. She looks nothing like me... Blond hair, loose curls, big blue eyes. While I loved her in my dream I still felt a little disconnected because she didn't look anything like me. It felt like I was handed a friend's baby to permanently take care of.

One of the biggest mysteries after finding out the sex of your baby (I don’t know how people can wait an extra 20 weeks) is wondering what she’ll look like when she’s born. Many new parents -- especially moms-to-be -- bask in their daydreams of straight—No, curly hair. 3D and 4D ultrasounds can help answer some of the questions before they’re born. If you’re wondering what shape their ears are, or if she has your lips. I’m still thinking about getting one.

Spawnie has 23 of my chromosomes, and 23 of her daddy’s. It’s split! Fifty-fifty. But while most people would be betting on her eye or hair color I’m thinking about something totally different all together -- Her skin color.

My uncle married a light-skinned woman from Nicaragua, and he jokingly categorizes the way his kids came out. “The chocolate” and “the vanilla” ones, he’ll say, pointing to my two darker skinned cousins, beside their lighter-skinned siblings. It’s really quite fascinating.

My husband is white. He has blond hair and blue eyes. He tans well but he’s pretty much as white as they come. Ever since we started talking about having children we’ve been debating what color they’ll come out.

We are friends with another interracial couple who complexion wise looks a lot like us. We all spent a lot of time together in college and just before graduation they had their first baby. He’s one of the most beautiful babies I’ve ever seen, but it’s incredible to see what shade he came out!

I know people say kids darken as they get older but if you saw this toddler now you’d still be surprised. He has beautiful, fine goldilocks and big bright blue eyes. My friend says she may not have believed he was her own had she not birthed him herself.

They’re pregnant now with their second child and maybe it’s just me, but I’m really anxious to see what flavor the next one is!

My husband jokes with me, teases me, saying our daughter is going to come out completely white. I just worry that if that’s the case, between our tanning sessions, people will ask me silly questions. You know how people like to talk. My friend mentioned earlier said people have mistaken her as the nanny before and see -- I’m not sure I’d be able to handle that in a nice way. Or what if our daughter takes more of my complexion, and when my husband’s out he’s asked where he got our daughter from, implying she’s adopted. I’m not sure he’d be able to respond to that in a nice way (that's just one of my worries for my birracial child).

I suppose it comes as a part of the full package: Beautiful child -- ignorant comments.

I was debating getting a 3D ultrasound to see what our little girl looks like. Part of me wants to know if she has my cheeks, forehead, eye shape, or nose. My husband says we should wait and see what she looks like when she comes out. Maybe we should. Besides, technology hasn’t advanced enough to where 3D ultrasounds can tell me the flavor of our baby.

Oh, and check out these twins!

*****

This is part of today's post I originally wrote on my blog for Parenting.com. Yep, I have a blog there too on Project Pregnancy. Check it out for more pregnancy updates and rants.