Post-Bump Friends

I’d heard Mummies can get lonely, so it seemed the stuff of fate,
To meet an antenatal group just a few weeks pre-due date.

Our nervous introductions, over bumps and raspberry teas.
Preparing for those Braxton Hicks and episiotomies.

Top perineal massage tips united us in horror.
And Tena trampolining? Post-bump bodies sounded bother.

Little knowledge of life stories before our pregnancy days.
But thrown together, in shock and awe, great friendships soon were made.

Only so many people can bond over the colour of poo,
Engorged boobs, feeding in groups, and how often you need the loo.

Soon we wished we’d all had shares in Infacol, biscuits and wipes.
Never alone, at the end of the phone, morning, noon and night.

A lifeline in the blurry times, guaranteed you’re always there.
We support, laugh and commiserate through WhatsApp tales we share.

Protective, non-competitive. No secret motives or fuss.
Surviving motherhood’s thrills and spills, with humour and a cuss.

Sticking together through thick and thin, one thing I know for sure:
“The best money that I ever spent” and friends for evermore.

© Pass Me The Valium and, 2016.

Double Trouble

Double trouble, wail and squabble.
Sibling love? Soon burst that bubble.
Bicker, tussle, wrestle and bite.
A pinch, a scratch, a bump, a fight.

I wonder will this ever end?
Brothers in arms, they’ll be best friends?
Sniggers, giggles, hugs and high fives,
Give me hope we will all survive.

No, a swipe, the glimmer is gone.
Tears and screams and faces forlorn.
Niggle, quibble, grapple and groan.
A punch, a scrap, a growl, a moan.

“You’re winding me up, I hate you”.
“Get out of my space, stinky poo!”
War, destruction, pure cheek and strife.
Double trouble, comrades for life.

© Pass Me The Valium and, 2016.

Ten Tired Mummies: A Parody

Ten tired mummies, struggling to see,
How to cope till bedtime, with their sanity.

Can they keep their cool and smiles throughout the day?
Ten tired mummies thinking positive, “yaaaaaaaaay!”

Ten tired mummies actually not feeling fine,
Thank goodness, a playgroup, now there are nine.

Nine tired mummies are always running late,
A toddler tantrum kicks off, now there are eight.

Eight tired mummies, looking up to heaven,
Great, bird poo down a top, now there’s only seven.

Seven tired mummies, need a caffeine fix,
“Latte?” asks Barista, now there are six.

Six tired mummies, it’s lunchtime they’ve survived,
Watch out! Projectile vom, now there’s only five.

Five tired mummies, pacing up and down the floor,
“You really think I’m going to nap?”, now there’s only four.

Four tired mummies, passing A&E,
Damn zip wire in the park, now there’s only three.

Three tired mummies, wondering what to do,
Quick, head for soft play, now there’s only two.

Two tired mummies, feeling totally out-done,
One discovers Pinterest so now there’s only one.

One tired mummy with patience wearing thin,
Frazzled, creased and broken, searching for the gin.

Witching hour begins, kids wrestle on the floor,
Mummy friends save the day by bursting through the door.

Drinking booze from sippy cups, in the safety zone,
Keep each other laughing, reassured they’re not alone.

© Pass Me The Valium and, 2016.

The Spirited One

He’s fast,
He’s brave,
He’s bold and he’s proud.
No volume control,
He’s so blooming loud.

He’s fearless,
He’s kind,
A bit full-on in parts.
He’s exhausting,
He’s funny,
And sure to break hearts.

Passion runs through him,
Lives life to the full.
One thing’s for certain,
It never gets dull.

“He’ll be someone”.
“He’ll break the rules”
“He’s sure to change the world”.
Great prophecies,
I’m reliably told.

Outrageous little man.
He’s the spirted one,
And I’m his biggest fan.

© Pass Me The Valium and, 2016.


Overwhelmed, or so I thought, during the Ninja years,
The baby rollercoaster ride of love and tears and fears.

But I must have had my sh*t together, I actually had the time,
To catergorise my photos, album folders line-by-line.

My computer’s super organised, he’s captured month-by-month,
I even did a photobook, of smiles, of hugs, the bunch.

But year 3 grinded to a hault, Honeybadger had arrived,
Two is proper chaos, “I get nothing done” I cried.

The photos aren’t so organised – one folder for the lot,
No photobooks, no details, I’d clearly lost the plot.

Poor neglected Pickle doesn’t even have a folder,
I repeat: “I’ll have the time, the minute she gets older”.

Clay cast hand and footprints also demonstrate this all,
9-week Ninja’s nicely framed, and hung upon his wall.

9 months old and Honeybadger’s were finally put up,
16 months for Pickle and she’s still not had that luck!

She does have hand and footprints, up there for all to see,
But thanks to the creations of her little nursery.

Scientists, tell me, what’s the child ratio for chaos?
It seems the more of them I have, the less I feel the boss.

The rollercoaster’s crazy, bonkers, fun, and off the rails,
Can’t think straight. Can’t sit down. Organised Mummy fails.

© Pass Me The Valium and, 2016.


Would Have Been, Should Have Been

You would have been, should have been going to school,
I would have been, should have been playing it cool.
Bursting with pride and scared all the same,
Letting go of your hand, teacher calling your name.
I hope up in heaven, it’s still your first day,
With other angel children you smile, dance and play.
Another milestone I know, this one somehow feels tougher,
There’s hope of next year with your rainbow wee brother.
Would-have-beens, should-have-beens is life now it seems,
Might-have-beens pondered only in dreams.
Good luck to the children starting school tomorrow,
Cherish each moment, their joy’s now to follow.

© Pass Me The Valium and, 2016.

A little something for all the parents of angel children who would have been starting school this week. Hope you’re coping OK x