As we enter, I take a deep breath,
It is possible to survive, although it could result in death.
I remove four coats amidst loud cries and wails.
The eldest has already convinced his sis that they only serve snails.
As I remove the knives and forks, shove glassware to one side,
I feel the stares, sense in the air remarks somewhat snide.
A waitress comes to take our order, giving her sweetest grin,
“We need more time”I plead. A twin kicks her straight in the shin.
The colouring sheets are a great idea, except for the crayons to share.
This only results in cries and shouts followed by the pulling of hair.
The waitress comes to enquire again, this time keeping her distance.
“We will all have the same” I say. It’s the path of least resistance.
Stickers, colouring, hats and books, anxious glances at the cooks,
“Where’s my pizza” scream the brood, despite my warnings not to be rude.
“My water spilled!” “I need a poo!” “She put crayons in my shoe!”
Crying, wailing , screaming four. One throws breadsticks on the floor.
Cut the pizza into squares, doing my best to avoid the stares.
Of course I’ll never get it right. Twin one has stolen twin two’s Sprite
Silence comes, pizza filling little tums.
But, of course, it doesn’t last. Pizza’s eaten very fast.
As I survey the aftermath, I hear a smothered pair of laughs.
As twin two falls off his chair, and twin one pulls her sister’s hair,
I see you look in disbelief, hear you mutter “Oh good grief,
Is this woman for real? Can’t wait to go spread this tale!”
As older bro falls on his rear I hear the ironic sneer, “Mother of the year!”
Your little darling sits pristine in her bib of pink and cream.
Feeding her proudly, while exclaiming most loudly
“Darling, thank our lucky stars that none of those is ours.”
Peony is so very good, behaving as an infant should.
She sits nicely in her chair, pretty bows in her hair.
Even her nails are a-gleam, she really does love to be clean.
She so loves her mum and dad, and never does a thing that’s bad.
Thing is, when you judge you see, you don’t know how things soon might be.
Peony’s a delightful little baby, but soon she’ll be a little lady.
Little ladies can be nice, but sometimes they are little shites.
Toddlers shout and scream and roar and throw their pasta on the floor.
If Peony gets a little brother, she’ll pretend to be his mother,
She’ll share her sweets, serve him tea, cuddle him upon her knee.
On other days, she’ll steal his toys. Bite him, kick him, make lots of noise.
One day you’ll be in my chair while others whisper, laugh and stare.
The moral of this little ditty is to urge you “don’t be shitty!”
Parenting is not a game, to make others feel ashamed.
When a parent is doing their best, give the poor wee soul a rest.
If you feel the need to stare, give a look saying “I’ve been there!”