‘Why do you want to know about Megan’s tattoos?’ I asked Grabbing my daughter Megan, I planted a smacker on her cheek.
She might have been 16, but she wasn’t too old for a goodnight kiss!
‘Night, Mum!’ she said, rolling her eyes.
Megan had just started her first part-time job at a fish-and-chip restaurant, while juggling schoolwork, too.
So grown up.
In some ways at least. When she came home, I’d still hear her giggling and gossiping on her phone with her mates.
No longer a kid, but not an adult, either.
Though me and my hubby Tony, 54, had seven kids between us, plus Megan’s half-sister, it was just Megan, her twin brother Mason and our youngest, Alex, 11, who still lived at home.
I knew it wouldn’t…
