My first born turned eighteen recently. And my younger one is touching twelve. Looking at them chatting away at the far end of the room, I could observe them for a while without them realizing it. Suddenly my son guffawed at something his sister said, and the corners of his eyes crinkled up just like mine. It was a déjà vu moment. I suddenly saw a bit of me in him. A reflection of my expression in his. I have been a mom for eighteen years and I still feel surprised when I look at my children. To think that I have created two living beings, who carry a bit of their parents in them, and their grandparents and great grandparents …well..a bit of so many people. And of course their individual traits. I see glimpses of all of us in them at the oddest of moments. It’s not only them. Some days when I gesture in a particular way or say a thing in a certain style, I see my mom in that gesture or word. I remember a day when my sister heard me scold my kids over some minor offence, and she remarked that I had finally become Mom. I had snapped back that I had been a mom for a while now. She then told me that I had heard wrong, and she had meant I had become Mom, meaning our mother, and not a mom. That’s how we are all a potpourri of so many traits, some fragrances being more dominant and some being dormant in us.