o, but the stresses of being Mommy;
had maternal duties been listed to me,
in those days of singledom,
I would have cried out,
"nay!
tie those tubes twixt the bones of my hips
and never say them frightening words
(ye should give birth to babes, and plenty)
to mine tender ears again."
verily,
I was not forewarned,
and wingless cherubims with rosied lips and cheeks
were granted me,
and how I love my earthbound miracles—
though the stench of dirtied nappies shrivels my delicate nostrils,
though chunks of soured milk are spewn on the occasion of flued seasons on
My
Best
Suit!
(sigh),
though goosed eggs sprout in rotund proportions
on fragile temples bumped against the corners of tables,
though teensy footsies are frustratingly bared at every opportune moment
(wonder upon wonder that socks and booties are not lost in that play),
though bedraggled I become at times of bath
(wetter I than those seated within bubbly tub),
though convincing drooping lids to stay shut
requires a nightly pace across cold floors,
and foodstuffs are everywhere else
(on me
on his sleeve cuffs
in her hair)
but where they ought be...
...o, but the stresses of being Mommy.
were it not for the joy of angel kisses and cooed murmurs
I would shed tears enough to flood the world
nay, said kisses and croons keep dry mine eyes
and no day goes by that I do not thank
Lord on High
for the blessings that are my children.
had maternal duties been listed to me,
in those days of singledom,
I would have cried out,
"nay!
tie those tubes twixt the bones of my hips
and never say them frightening words
(ye should give birth to babes, and plenty)
to mine tender ears again."
verily,
I was not forewarned,
and wingless cherubims with rosied lips and cheeks
were granted me,
and how I love my earthbound miracles—
though the stench of dirtied nappies shrivels my delicate nostrils,
though chunks of soured milk are spewn on the occasion of flued seasons on
My
Best
Suit!
(sigh),
though goosed eggs sprout in rotund proportions
on fragile temples bumped against the corners of tables,
though teensy footsies are frustratingly bared at every opportune moment
(wonder upon wonder that socks and booties are not lost in that play),
though bedraggled I become at times of bath
(wetter I than those seated within bubbly tub),
though convincing drooping lids to stay shut
requires a nightly pace across cold floors,
and foodstuffs are everywhere else
(on me
on his sleeve cuffs
in her hair)
but where they ought be...
...o, but the stresses of being Mommy.
were it not for the joy of angel kisses and cooed murmurs
I would shed tears enough to flood the world
nay, said kisses and croons keep dry mine eyes
and no day goes by that I do not thank
Lord on High
for the blessings that are my children.
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