Lately, Katy has started lolling in front of the full-length mirror outside my bathroom when she’s meant to go brush her teeth. Today she piped up while looking at her reflection: “Who gave me my birthmark?”
I told her the usual answer. “God gave it to you. It makes you special.”
“Oh. God gave it to me.”
We brushed our teeth as usual and then I went to tuck her in.
As I was reading her bedtime book, Katy interrupted me. “Mummy,” she said solemnly. “People don’t have birthmarks.”
I felt a teeny piece of my heart shatter into a million teeny-tiny pieces. And in a split second I rallied, as only mothers do. “Yes we do. See, here’s mine!” And I pointed to the mole just below my collarbone.
While Katy examined my mole closely I told her that some people have little birthmarks, some have big ones, some have many and others have one…
Katy: “I have one! It’s on my cheek.”
And then we continued reading The Runaway Bunny.
And after I turned off the lights, I broke one of my longstanding rules and told Katy, “Goodnight, Katy. You’re my special princess.” (I am totally anti-princess on regular days.)
Katy mumbled something into her pillow that I couldn’t hear. So I asked her to repeat herself. “Special BUNNY, Mummy.”
:’)
