Precious babe you are when you lay sleeping,
Eyes closed, far from this world, in new lands, dreaming.
And then you emerge without fail at the hour of five in the AM,
And though I slumber, you will drag me out of bed, I have no choice then.
On days when I am too tired to awake on your command,
You slap me in the face, you cry, you demand.
And once you have got what you desire you leave me be for a few.
How precious the minutes are when I am without you.
Until I am ready to do what must be done,
You attack, you plague me, and the wicked hours have begun.
I am at the mercy of the flying bottle, the flying shoe.
The tantrums, the destruction, the sh’ ups, oh lord the flying shoe.
And the infliction does not end until the very end of night,
When to bed you go promptly two hours past nine.
Precious babe you are when you lay sleeping,
Eyes closed far from this world, in new lands, dreaming.
6 comments:
I loved this so much, totally unexepcted but in a good way.
This is so true, we all love babies but they can be a handful, like the writing style also.
Simply wonderful writing style. Amusing in the truth it so eloquently expresses. Love it!
you spelt "passed" wrong. but reading this and seeing marc! so true! , tris
Thank You for pointing that out tris, it has been rectified this happens when you're multi-tasking; having to attend to a screaming child and life in general.
And thank you for all the other comments you're all too kind.
So this Marc fellow is quite the little devil then? Oh chicken, to be running around the fifth form building again with planks of wood in hand....
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