This is my trophy son wrapped in a frog towel.
This is my trophy daughter who once upon a time was swaddled in that same towel.
This is my trophy son demonstrating male pattern balding.
This is my trophy daughter with her movie star hair and superstar shades.
This is my trophy son taking a nap and looking like he could be rotisseried.
This is my trophy daughter interrupting that nap.
This is my trophy daughter so tuckered out that she fell into naptime half seated on a comfy chair.
This is me proudly holding one of my babies as if he were a trophy, and the truth is that he is hardly such a totem. A trophy is sought after and earned, flaunted, and then stacked high on a shelf or shielded in a case to be admired and perhaps forgotten. My babies are on lease to me, I didn't earn them, they are not mine to flaunt or showcase. But you can be sure I will never ever place them on a high shelf. At least not one that can't be reached with a stepstool.