That mole certainly started out innocuously enough. I think it was bestowed on her at the age of three or four. Slowly, over time, the mole grew. It darkened, too. I began to call it the chocolate spot, and would tease my little girl by trying to lick it. At first, because she was just a toddler, she loved my antics.

But as she grew older, the mole became more of a nuisance, as far as she was concerned. A particular movie did nothing to help the situation. Neither did the teasing by her father and sister.

For several years, I brushed off her comments about it. Any conversations I entertained about having it surgically removed were just that - for my own cheeky entertainment. I loved that mole, and always made a point of letting her know it. Her dad and I began to call it "the beauty spot". At first, this seemed to make a difference to my daughter. It also had the unintended result of causing her big sister to get a little jealous, as she did not have a similar mole herself.

But this did not last long. In fact, the whole incident serves to remind me that my children are not the kind of people to be easily taken in by "spin", much to my pride.

Still, I had a problem to solve - how to get my daughter to accept the way she was made. So, every time I saw a celebrity with a trademark "beauty spot", I made sure my daughter knew. Charlize Theron has a nice neck mole. Cindy Crawford and Natalie Portman love their prominent beauty marks, as did Marilyn Monroe.

I wanted my daughter to embrace hers, like these beauties obviously did. I showed my daughter that she was in good company. But with hindsight, I realise that I was unable to see the mole from her point of view.

My opinion was skewed by the fascination we, as parents, find in our children's changing bodies. But over time, I became aware of how people remove moles, and of the health issues involved. My daughter's best friend also had a neck mole that was removed on the advice of her doctor.

One day, my daughter confided that she was unhappy about people talking to her, because their gaze inevitably wandered to her mole.

So I made an appointment and my daughter bravely went under the knife. The process was over in two minutes. The doctor said, "This girl is charming, intelligent and brave." I drew a picture of the doctor alongside a speech bubble containing those words, and placed it next to my daughter's bed while the bandage stayed on.

There was no scar. She was pleased. But while I was happy for her, I lamented the loss of my chocolate spot.

But then, about a month later, my eldest daughter told me that her sister's mole was "coming back". I, too, had noticed. I decided to call the doctor. He apologised for not getting to all the cells, and asked that we return to complete the job.

I said I'd wait and see. The mole returned in a much smaller incarnation, and it appeared to be lighter, too. My daughter never spoke of it.

Finally, after about two months, I asked if she wanted to make a return visit to the doctor.

My daughter shook her head. No. We both grinned. We had both got what we wanted. "God's finishing touch" had returned.

Karmel Schreyer is a freelance writer and a mother of two girls