Wednesday, 27 May 2015

Mum of a boy

The house is a mess,
There are crumbs on the floor,
A big pile of sticks in a heap by the door.
Lego and dumper trucks litter each surface,
You run around parks, try to keep up with his pace.

Some days so loving, your sweet cutie-pie,
Other days chaos, clumsy whacks in the eye.
A whirlwind of hormones you can't understand,
One day he'll tower over you, a strapping young man.

He helps with the housework, you hope it's a sign,
That he'll grow up respectful, considerate, kind.
You want him to thrive, love his life, have some fun,
You hope future wife gets along with 'old mum'.

Some days you feel anxious, advice falls on deaf ears,
Boys nights out in the future knots your stomach with fears.
You look at his small face, engrossed in a toy,
He'll always adore you, you're the mum of a boy.

Monday, 25 May 2015

Today is the day

Today is the day that my toddler won't fuss,
He won't have a meltdown on sweaty packed bus,
He'll eat all his vegetables, try out some fruit,
I'll chat on on the phone and he won't scream "TOOT TOOT".

Today is the day that he'll wee on the pot,
Won't refuse his cool dinner for being "TOO HOT!"
He won't tantrum and cry when we mention a bath,
Accept that it's bedtime with a shrug and a laugh.

Today is the day when he won't snatch a toy,
Will share and play nicely with other small boy.
He'll be happy and helpful, won't needle and whine,
He won't have a tantrum at 'tidy-up' time.

Maybe tomorrow.

Wednesday, 13 May 2015


There is a mummy in a class I go to once a week,
She’s young and pretty, groomed ... composed, in awe I sneak a peek.
Long dark hair and slim of build, I can’t help but feel a frump,
I look down at faded leggings, in my throat I feel a lump.

I think it’s time I upped my game so next time take some care,
I slick black liner on my eyes, I even brush my hair.
Arriving early at the class I feel a sense of shock,
As perfect-mum removes her shoes, revealing holes in grubby socks.

So stunned am I to see this this flaw, this crack in her perfection,
I find it hard to look away and force myself to change direction.
Looking closer at her I can see that she’s been crying,
I catch her eye, smile and chat, feel bad I've been caught spying.

It turns out she’s been up all night, her toddlers having nightmares,
She’s struggling with her workload and she can’t afford her train-fares.
Her partner works such long hours and her in-laws are invasive,
She wants to stay part-time but pushy bosses are persuasive.

She says she’s found it hard to cope, her old friends free and single,
She says she’s always been quite shy, at classes finds it hard to mingle.
We all have bad days, don’t compare - try not to judge each other,
In sweat-pants or designer jeans it’s hard to be a mother.