Missing my little boy already,
I'm not sure if I'm ready,
To live in an eerily quiet house,
Without a tiny person asking me a million doubts,
Why, why and why,
Twenty four hours just fly,
Answering his endless questions,
And listening to his old man suggestions,
No clay dough boxes to trip over,
No one to ask me, if my work is over,
No one to read bed time stories to,
Who knew,
I was going to miss the chaos this much,
Suddenly, everything in the house yearns
for my baby's touch.
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