Why am I starting a blog ?
Well, having an annoying tendancy to jot down thoughts on the back of old Christmas cards and then lose them soon after, I thought it safer. Wherever I go, whatever I do.. my words will remain forever in some tiny corner of cyberpsace. It's a comforting, reassuring thought.
I am no ditzy Bridget with my head perpetually stuffed into in some self-help tripe and my heart planning some eco-trip to Mali. Camping = dirt and I like to stay clean.
I am not called Sharon and I am not 29.
I don't talk about sex in public ( the public airing of my sex life as opposed to chatting about having sex in the open air, just to clarify ) so if you're looking for a risque read, go elsewhere.
I am 34 and I live in Bedfordshire which is a Shire County. Naturally.
I have two daughters, aged 5 and 8. They are mostly sweet natured and affable but can be impossibly strong willed and awkward.
Wonder where they got that from then ?
My eldest had her ears pierced at the age of 6 and this is what I wrote when we returned home:

Forever altered

She is forever altered.
Diamond studs glint dully in the freshly damaged flesh,
like a cautious warning of hurried youth.

Perfect skin stapled for the function of beauty,
on my exquisite daughter, who is barely six years old
and unmoved as she grins at my troubled face.

All the begging finally paid off.
and my defeat is lost in her utter bliss
as she fingers the foreign metal in her ear

and ponders on some new unrealized wish.
`Don’t worry Mum, it didn’t hurt an inch`, she explains
with a faraway laugh, as she strokes my hand.

`Oh good; what a brave little girl you are`.
If only she could really understand.
She is forever altered.

Not wanting to favour number 1 offspring, here's something I penned for number 2:

Between a Mother and her daughter

She is smiling in the shadows, eyes wide open
Her scent is sweet cocoa powder sugar
As she grabs a strand of my hair whilst curling her legs around my waist

And I think:

This daughter of mine will leave here one day
And no one else, no one, will ever know how extraordinary she is.
There is a moment of recognition in those thick lashed hazel eyes;
As she smiles and cups my chin in her baby girls hands

She is so comfortable, so content.

And I think:

If this moment could be preserved
Forever; if every miniscule detail could be vacuum packed, potted and preserved
So that it might be reproduced at some later date to appreciate properly;
Oh, how sweet that would be!