You've come a Long way, baby

Some of my favorite moments occur late at night when I'm nursing Larkin and her fingers flex and grasp my fingers, my wrist, my shirt.

I look down at her hands and I see my hands, only tinier. I see in her hands my long fingers, the shape of my nails. Maybe just a hint of my mannerisms.

That's when it hits me, this is my daughter.

And then I wonder if 32 years ago my mother looked down while nursing and saw her own hands in mine and thought the same thing.

I like to think so.

Isn't it wonderful how things get passed down from mother to daughter, from mother to daughter, again and again?