Our daughter is a gorgeous girl who until recently has had very little resemblance to me, her mother. Thankfully she stopped looking like the Michelin Man once she got her legs working to keep her tubby body mobile and she has stopped looking so much like her great grandmothers in real time, in more recent years. She is an outdoor girl and as a result is getting a sprinkling of freckles across her nose – these, her hair and her olive skin are our bond. In fact if it wasn’t for these features we would wonder if she was ours at all. You see, unlike her parents, she is coordinated. She can walk from here to there and not fall over! Even more perplexing to her father and I, this means she is naturally gifted at any sport she likes – which happens to be soccer. And she is awesome to watch. Magic. Like watching those kids in isolated foreign villages who kick balls around all day with the skills of Pele – this is our daughter. I am so proud. I am also a bad mother. I am sharing with you a poem that my gorgeous daughter wrote for me because, also like me, she has developed an addiction for dark, bitter chocolate. And she pinched the last row of a block I’d been hiding for a week. The spelling etc are her own. The words in italics are mine. Enjoy. And please don’t be offended. I actually adore her.
Mums are Lovely (*I’m sorry I ate your chocolate Mum)
Other mums can be horrible (*But not you, ever, even if you have PMS and I ate your chocolate)
The best mum is my mum (*You couldn’t possibly be mad with me after you read this)
Her daughter is 8 years old (*I am actually 7, but I’m hoping I’ll live to my 8th birthday)
Each mother has at least 1 child (*I better not write ‘Eating chocolate is what mums like to do’)
Remember speacial mums are your heart (*I could get a job with Hallmark, seriously, before I even turn 10)
So many Mothers are pretty (*And quite frankly, so many aren’t, which are YOU going to be Mum? Get over the chocolate thing you passive aggressive pain in the butt! I love you.)