I have my momma's scowl. Eh, I don't know if it's a scowl exactly, but I do know that whenever she was thinking about something or doing something, especially an activity that required a downward glance, a little frown would tug at her lips. As she got older and went through a couple of big weight changes, the little frown became more pronounced. It didn't mean she was unhappy; no, she was just doing something.
Remember that scene in "Beaches" where not-Bette-Midler is dying and suddenly has a panic attack because she can't remember what her mother's hands look like? I don't believe I'll ever have the problem when it comes to remembering my mom. We have the same feet- I noticed that a long time ago. And we sit the same way when we're reading on the couch or in a chair. Which leads to the fact that we get up the same. I'm not suggesting that there are zillions of different ways to get out of a chair, but I noticed a long time back that my mom and I move the same way when doing that particular action. Our hands and nails are similar- not exact replicas, but very close. And now I have the frown. I am my mother's daughter. I've never been able to deny it.
Once, when I was in high school I think, I asked my mother if there was anything about me that I got from my biological dad. I used to joke that mom didn't "have" me- she created me like a starfish- just cut off an arm and I grew from that. Anyway, when I asked, she replied, "Your stomach. You carry all your extra weight in your stomach, just like him." After a bit of a backwards glance, I wandered off and thought, "Oh really?" I guess it was a bit of a double whammy then, huh? It was never destined for me to be skinny.
Thanks Mom. For the hands and feet and frown... and even the stomach (I mean, thanks Craig).