Posted March 18, 2011 by
I painted my daughter's toenails for the first time this morning.
It was one of those moments, those big, beautiful life moments where everything kind of overlaps and you realize how connected it all is. My mother and I had this same moment once and Vera will probably have this moment with her own daughter one day. All of it connected. Brought on by the simple and girlish act of painting toenails.
I remember my mother's toenails. I remember the freckles on her arms and the ways in which her hands were different from mine. I remember the thickness of her hair and the way she used to purse her lips when she looked at herself in the mirror. I remember her throaty laugh and way she sounded when she called my name from the top of the stairs.
I know that with each passing day I imprint myself even more onto my daughter. There are millions of ways to be a woman, but she will forever be influenced by the distinct way in which I've unfolded into my own femininity, just as my mother influenced me, and her mother her, and on and on.
Mothers and daughters. And toenails.