Half woman, half child.

A poem for my daughter.

You finally succumb to the stresses of the hours, the clashing cymbals of emotions and the tight strain of self-criticism.

Your beautiful brow starts to slowly soften, eyebrows drawing down, softening the evidence of frowns made of despair.

Your face twitches and nerves unravel. Soft, full lips parted, the rhythmic order of sleep ascends.

At last my beautiful girl you are able to reset, reorder, and redefine life.

In the slumber hours awaiting, I have time to examine your face, from the tiny, illuminated disc of growth indicating your chicken pox scar, to your curving feather like lashes. Your ears tender and small marked by signs of expected embellishments to indicate your presence in the world of 16-year-olds.

Clinging like your toddler self to your beloved Nigel, my heart softens, groans and aches. You will always be my beloved child, my baby, my sweet natured gabbling teddy lover.

Your elegant nails on your pale, young fingers, defy your age, like a child playing ‘dress up’. You are half woman, half child, and so precious.

I catch my breath, and both revel and fear the responsibility that is to guide you through your future, share in your successes, hold you when you are heartbroken, being there when you fall, and exalting in your joys.

My girl x