Last night I was compared to Pam ‘bloody’ Ayres by people I considered my friends…so here’s a little poem what I wrote about being a parent.
It used to be in days of yore that Sunday was a day of rest.
Then children were spawned and required attention
Which put Sunday’s rest to the test.
No more lie-in’s whether asleep or getting jiggy
Perusing the papers with coffee
No more lazy days in front of the fire with a slab of Thornton’s toffee
Now Sunday’s are seen as another working day
Up with the lark and the kids
Messy breakfasts and spillages with spray
Hair pulling and whinging the order of the day
The newspaper’s been shredded your coffee is cold
All the fruit in the bowl is covered in mould
You’ll quickly learn not to bother with a roast
Just biscuits and a trip to McDonalds
I mean since their birth you’ve survived on toast
Until caffeine and carbs became your poison
Along with alcohol, chocolate and cake of course
And knowing all the songs from ‘Frozen’
You may not be fully in control anymore
But no matter just look; they’re so cute
So your supping lager from the mug of life
Instead of champagne from a crystal flute
Things will change, ease up in time
And your freedom will eventually return
Then you’ll yearn for the messy Sunday’s of yore
From the mantle inside your urn.