I used to think I looked nothing like my mother.

As a chubby, “big boned” child, I felt very displaced being around Maman.

She was beautiful. Thin. Blond. Happy. The idea of bodily perfection.

How I would envy her size 2 petite self as we’d shop. Wishing, wondering why I didn’t resemble her. Resenting my dark hair and chunkier legs.

As I got older, however, things changed.

Shifted.

Slowly, I felt the resemblances growing.

And not just physically.

Suddenly, people couldn’t tell us apart on the phone. Our walk was as one. We even realized we both sleep on our same side and have a piece of hair that gets turned up from said sleeping side. In the exact same spot. Spooky, right?

As if messed up nighttime hair wasn’t enough, people starting commenting on how similar we were, how much I looked like her.

I couldn’t, and still can’t, think of a better compliment to receive.

One weekend I was home from college, I looked closer, searching both of our faces. Seeing that familiarity that others saw in us,  it finally hit me — just how much we do and are … alike.

I just happen to be the bigger, dark haired her.

I’m well aware of the women out there who have strained relationships with their mothers. Some of these being my friends. Stories of jealousy and anger. Retaliation.

These stories pain me greatly.

Maman has always been such a source of strength and solidity for me. My support and comfort, an up-lifter.

I suppose she could have made me feel  less than any number of times, or played into my childhood insecurities. But that’s not her.

She’s one of the kindest, most genuine individuals. Ever.

So willing to believe the best in every person.

This picture cracks me up. Not only because it reminds me of:  Back That Azz Up — but, it is also so us.

Brother captured this moment as we were walking home, apres some much needed ice cream.

Two things are happening here:

1. Discussion of stylish workout gear {very important}

2. Trying to calm my niece down. Stopped in the crossfire of toddler reasoning. Like that ever works?

Looking at this picture, reminds me just how much I physically am Maman, just in 2.0 version … taller, yet, the same arms, same exact shape, identical curves.

And that booty.

{Thanks, Maman.}

While no mother and daughter has a perfectly flawless relationship — who does with anybody — I do hope that those special moments I’ve shared with Maman, are being experienced by others.

Every girl always needs her Maman.