I’m a liberal mum,
Up-to-date…no wait seriously,
I understand about the dangers of socialisation,
Stamping my daughter with the pink sparkly stamp –
Setting her up for a lifetime
Wearing girls’ clothes
Make up, false nails, trips to the hairdresser,
Highlights, lowlight, balayage,
Whatever is in fashion,
The latest season, no reason
To see that as a bad thing,
To regard the trappings of womanhood
As un-laceable corset
She can never take off.
She wants a Barbie doll.
I try to explain,
I tried to find the right words
That’s not the right way
To see yourself.
Your body is your material wealth
You are more than
All the while she looks at me
With her eyes that see
My brand of femininity,
Whatever that is,
And perhaps she thinks –
‘I should give that a miss’.
Do I really know better
Then she does?
Her favourite doll
Although her body looks like hers,
She’s a flat-footed fairy
Peter Pan’s rebel girl,
But to my daughter
She can be anything.
And when I ask her why she likes her,
She says ‘Because she looks like you mummy’.
She does not mean I am perfect,
Silicon enhanced, pneumatic in the chest department,
She does not mean that I have symmetrical features,
Permanent up do
Or an ideal butt.
Rather, she looks like a woman,
And a woman is something that she may one-day become.