I glanced over to where my arm wrapped around my daughter while we sat side by side in the chair.
My mommy chair.
The designated spot where I sit and always have.
I looked down at where my hand rested along the side of her arm and did a double take, not sure who’s hand was really there.
Was that mine or my mothers?
My skin had suddenly, as if over night, taken on the same olive tone of hers, I had lines where she did, and my nails appeared longer.
Was it age?
I stared at my hands for some time, transformed to a place where I would sit with my mom and find comfort in her warmth.
Wrapping myself around her and held in her arms.
Happily I looked back at my hands and sighed.
I was becoming my mom.