Your face has bashed roughly into mine for no reason or rhyme,
Was that blood mixed with pain,
Or the feeling of my teeth as they strain,
Into the obscure corners of my lips,
What joy to be a boy mom with you perennially stuck to my hips,
Or calling out for me every two seconds,
Like a baby dragon who beckons,
My house is a mess,
Toys in excess,
A tube of Fevicol to add to the confusion,
Smelly baby hands, however much I wash them, cleanliness is an illusion,
He's either sweating from running around too much,
Or spilling food everywhere as such,
When do they grow up to become less monkey like,
He's a little tyke,
He's also the apple of my eye,
Even if we don't meet eye to eye,
On many things,
My ears ring,
With his constant nattering,
His speech both flattering and unflattering,
Off to bed I go,
Where we'll hopefully not have another row.
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