Essays & Shorts

I live in a house run by a tiny army that I created myself

A Man once said to me: 
“Children are the key to paradise!”
And I wholly agree, 
they are the greatest joy in life.

But they’re also tiny little terrorists,
and you should quickly learn the truth of this,
for as soon as they are born,
they’ll hone their skills from the very crack of dawn.

Peaceful little angels,
until the phone dare ring
“No contact with the outside world!”
the darlings start to sing.

My rump just hit the toilet seat,
“Oh, great, it’s time to brush our teeth!”
No privacy, no peace of mind,
not even on this throne of mine.

And if you more than two possess,
you’re sleeping on the edge, no less.
At least their nap is undisturbed
their feet reclining on your cheek.
Sprang you for the king-sized bed?
Oh well, my dear, it’s the floor instead.

Now sleep-deprived and addle-brained,
they’ll wear me down until I’m tame.

A ‘no’ to them a challenge is:
“But, mummy, we can’t live like this!”
They siblings, friends and cousins recruit,
until they’re all in mass pursuit.

What is a tired mother to do, 
performing the work of twenty for free?
We can’t look good all at the same time, 
it’s me, the kids or the house, you mind.

The perfect mother does exist
she simply has no kids just yet.

My children, oh how dear they are,
Each an every one a shining star.
Their love I cannot live without,
I love them equally, no doubt.

Except the one that sleeps,
I love that one a little more.

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