I don’t always relish everything or give you all I should
And sometimes on the tougher days, I lose sight of what’s good
But just know that when you need me – if you’re tiny or you’re tall
I will always be there any time that you might call
As a break from bemoaning the lack of reasonable behaviour from my toddler – and because it’s Father’s Day this weekend – I thought a spot of sincerity was in order, as did my two-year-old. I admit he did need a little bit of help with the typing – his efforts not being bad as such bar a few errors.
SsikjisjjndvgjsSIDAFJnhlkl94 He knows what he’s writing though, apparently.
And I may have paraphrased his words ever so slightly for optimum effect; but otherwise, it’s all him. Sort of.
Enjoy every moment? Err, that’s realistic!
Like most, I know that I am so lucky to be a parent, and that the time I have with my son is as much a privilege as it is precious. However, I can also get lost in the stuff that surrounds and is part of being a mother, and the challenges which take my time and energy, and clutter our day to day lives.
I hold my son a little tighter tonight; stroke his head once more than needed. I breathe his sleepy sighs and inhale his whispered Mama. He makes my heart hurt a little less; I am so thankful for him.
Recently, like too many others, we lost something. And I really don’t know how I should be now, what I should do. I don’t know if this is private; if I should explain my absences and cancelled plans with vague excuses of flu and a packed schedule. Or if I should admit that something big and sad has happened, and that I’m not okay at the moment.
Today you screamed and shouted until I sat you on my knee
I only wanted to use the toilet, by myself, for 40 seconds
I think you expect me to ignore my basic bodily functions
It’s quite hard to wee with a climbing 1 year old attached, by the way
Well, as long as you’re happy, I told you
The look you gave me said, obviously.
I started this in the midst of a very Bad Mum Day. The kind when, despite best intentions, nothing gets done, everything goes wrong and the baby senses your stress and uses it to destroy your spirit. It seems the more I try to achieve some days, the less I manage. I woke with a long To Do list – FYI, To Do lists only make you feel like a failure; and a determination to make my son an amazing cake for his Birthday the following day. By 6 p.m. I had a questionable sponge with toxic green icing (I’d attempted baby blue), and hadn’t crossed one thing off my silly, over ambitious list. I’m not sure why writing a poem about it seemed a sensible option, but it was apparently too early for gin.