"I'm Nadia..." you say to her. "I'm your daughter."
Your mom looks at you again and cocks her head a little. "I must have forgotten what year it is again...because I was just wondering where you were, but I was also thinking you were four. What year is it, just out of curiosity?"
"2032" you reply. "I'll be sixteen in August."
"Oh, good, you did survive COVID-19." she says. "I was scared I might lose you."
"I barely remember, but I do seem to recall everyone was scared, except maybe the ones who refused to wear masks out in public. I'm inclined to believe they were just stupid...but that's all
distant memory now."
"But why do I always seem to draw a blank about who you are half the time?" she asks, in a tone as if believing you'll maybe have some insight.