In the weeks following her birth, like all new parents, I closely examined her features, wondering if her fair hair and her deep blue eye colour were here to stay. I selfishly wanted a mini-me. I didn’t want people to think I was her nanny or question that I was her mother. Even though my husband will tell me, “She looks just like you — if you had blonde hair and blue eyes,” her appearance made me feel insecure. Offhanded comments from strangers and family — like “She didn’t get your features,” or “She must look like her father” — intensified it, making me feel like I failed as a mother, though it’s not like I could control how our genes played out. Maybe I wished if she looked just a little more ethnic, it would be like having a re-do of my childhood — one that hopefully wouldn’t come with the same challenges.