What To Expect…New Motherhood

First days at home with your baby,
The sound of alarm bells ring.
Panic sets in as you look at your bundle,
“Umm, what do I do with this thing?”

So, now you’re meant to be grown up,
Responsible, calm and together.
But faced with this Mini-Me being,
You’re suddenly not feeling clever.

Sore, cracked nipples and swollen boobs.
Yearnings for cold cabbage leaves.
Stitches, discomfort and pain sitting down.
Trepidation of each “ouchie” wee.

Tired eyes. Haven’t slept now for days.
And not likely to anytime soon.
In your own little bubble, feel jet lagged,
Tearful, exhausted, marooned.

Might fret about breast or the bottle.
Know what? A fed baby’s what matters.
A happy babe equals contentment.
Much better than feeling in tatters.

You’ll become MasterChef of fast mealtimes.
A Jedi of one-handed-skills.
Queen of box-set feeding marathons.
Can truly watch Netflix, and chill.

A blurry time full of confusion.
But it’s gone in the blink of an eye.
One day they will sleep through the night.
Some day they will talk and not cry.

Baby gazing’s your new favourite past time.
Breathe in deeply, that fresh baby smell.
Live in the moment. Forget about chores.
Fall under your gorgeous one’s spell.

Don’t overdo the advice books,
Paranoia of failure is crazy.
Trust your gut instincts, you are a great Mum,
You know what is right for your baby.

These first weeks can feel pretty daunting.
All new, and surreal, and unknown.
But, trust me, you’re doing a great job.
And, please know, you are never alone.

© Pass Me The Valium and passmethevalium.com, 2017.

Tomorrow will be different…

Tomorrow will be different:
A home of peace and love.
No worn-out cries “for pity’s sake”,
Raised eyes to Lord above.

Tomorrow will be different:
I’ll have no need to yell.
They’ll get their shoes on speedily,
We’ll make that school run bell.

Tomorrow will be different:
Their pants will stay all clean.
Won’t have to scrub poonamis,
That make my face turn green.

Tomorrow will be different:
I’ll sip hot cups of tea. 
Go to the toilet on my own;
Blissful tranquility.

Tomorrow will be different:
There’ll be no fights or scraps.
No embarrassing behaviour,
Or toddler tantrum flaps.

Tomorrow will be different:
I’ll be in complete control.
No winding up, or losing plots,
No bribes of Paw Patrol.

Tomorrow will be different:
On myself, won’t be so tough. 
I’ll acknowledge that I’ve tried my best.
I’ll accept that that’s enough.

© Pass Me The Valium and passmethevalium.com, 2017.

Good food? “DISGUSTING”

As every Mum knows,
The more effort you make,
To cook wholesome food,
There’s more chance they will hate.

Slaved over for hours,
And crafted with love?

You bet, on the floor,
It soon will be shoved.

“Tonight, lovely soup.
Great for your 5 A DAY.”

“Well, this tastes disgusting”
You’ll soon hear them say.

How about casseroles?
Veg pasta sauces?
Dream on, there’s no way
They’ll eat three hearty courses.

Nutritious meals equal
“Bleurghh, urghhh” and “Yuck!”

Looks of repulsion;
Response: “What’s this muck?”

Try as you might,
To teach them what’s good,

They long for the junk,
And a “Yum” chocolate pud.

You’d make them so happy,
If you could just fix it,

To serve up a menu,
Of burgers and biscuits.

One day they’ll be foodies;
Love flavour adventure.

No frowning or moaning,
No meltdowns or censure.

So, if meal after meal,
All week you’ve been binning,

Resort to fish fingers
And feel like you’re winning.

© Pass Me The Valium and passmethevalium.com, 2017.

I do not negotiate with terrorists. Honest.

When all around they run amok.
You feel you’re going mad.
Threat levels reaching “critical”.
Rampaging worse than bad.

Unruly, messy anarchy,
Descent to pure corruption.
Your crazy, little rebels,
They’re weapons of mass destruction.

No negotiation, diplomacy,
Or sweet-talking seems to work.
You try to quell the mutiny,
But they still all go berserk.

A tantrum ticking time bomb,
“You’ve put sweetcorn with the tuna?”
WARNING! Meltdown high alert,
Imploding sense of humour.

You’re the queen of biscuit bribery,
The ambassador of calm.
In a twist of contradiction,
They’re purveyors of smooth charm.

With your wild things on the warpath,
Voice of reason they’ll resist.
But a secret weapon’s up your sleeve –
A cuddle and a kiss.

So, no matter what, keep smiling,
Don’t give up, you’ve got this covered.
Ride out the tantrum terror phase,
Of your dear, extreme beloved.

© Pass Me The Valium and passmethevalium.com, 2017.

Who’d be the eldest?

Having younger siblings,
Has got to be quite tough.
Told to be responsible.
Told off for being rough.

Yes, who’d be the eldest?
It’s true, it can be pants.
Leader of the pack; you bear the brunt,
Of Mummy’s “be good” rants.

Irritating siblings!
They long to be like you.
No question that they hold you back,
From things you want to do.

You do protest, despite their age,
They’re given grown-up favours.
While you ate plain old carrot stix,
They scoff Hula Hoops and Quavers.

I know they seem a pain,
But you are their biggest hero.
They beam at you, they always have,
From time point: minute zero.

I promise one day you will feel,
So thankful for each other.
And be as proud as punch,
To have your sister and your brother.

Know in those precious moments,
When it’s just me and you.
I cherish every second,
And those simple tasks we do.

Lego, Battleships and colouring,
In hot chocolate solitude.
A chance to chat through cares and woes;
My charming little dude.

For you’re the one who rocked my world,
From all I’d known before.
You filled my life with “wow”, and smiles,
And pride for evermore.

You ask me for “just mummy time”,
I’ll make that happen too.
Please never doubt how much you’re loved,
And how much I think of you.

© Pass Me The Valium and passmethevalium.com, 2017.

Away in a Manger for Sleep-Deprived Mums

Away (like a stranger),
From my comfy bed.
The sweet rebel baby,
Won’t lay down her head.

I glance at the night sky,
Look down with dismay.
Seems sleep is for losers,
You just want to play.

Your Daddy is snoring,
Yet you’re still awake.
When I say “sleep tight”,
Smiles and laughter you make.

I love you, so cheeky,
But please close your eyes.
I’ll lay on your floor,
Till insanity’s nigh.

Let’s rest now, I beg you,
Awake all the day.
I could sleep forever,
I’d love to, I pray.

Bless all the tired parents,
In depths of despair.
Gin awaits us in heaven,
To glug when we’re there.

© Pass Me The Valium and passmethevalium.com, 2016.

Little Lady Ga Ga

Where has my sweet baby gone?
The one who goo-ed and gaa-ed?
A prima donna’s moving in,
And making our life hard.

She kicks and stomps with all her might,
She thumps upon the floor.
Coochy coos are long-since gone,
It’s rebellion and roars.

Unreasonable, I know:
Won’t let her pull her brother’s hair,
Clean the toilet with her toothbrush,
Or fall down all those stairs.

Or twang her brother’s willy,
When he’s weeing standing up.
Or I ask her not to bite me,
When I give her the wrong cup.

She wants to do things her own way,
But gets frustrated when,
She can’t peel her banana skin,
And it all kicks off again.

Angry face with tear-stained cheeks,
Irrational, determined strops.
I love that she knows her own mind,
Just please not on my watch!

Living with a toddler’s worse,
Than any A-list diva.
Demands so wild that they could tame,
The likes of Justin Bieber.

I know it won’t last very long,
One day she’ll be my friend.
But in the midst of tantrum times,
I ponder, “will this end?”

No, I’ll embrace these diva days,
Although they feel bizarre.
Marvel at the crazy antics,
Of my little superstar.

© Pass Me The Valium and passmethevalium.com, 2016.

Wind the mummy up

Wind the mummy up,
Wind the mummy up,
Pull, punch, slap, slap, slap.

Wind her up again,
Wind her up again,
No chance of nap, nap, nap.

Gunk on the ceiling,
Mess on the floor.
Snot on the window,
Smears on the door.

Hands up if you’re with me,
One, two, three?
Make mine a large G and T!…

© Pass Me The Valium and passmethevalium.com, 2016.

It’s Great to be a Mum

Hardly cool, calm and collected,
Nails, bikini line neglected.
House, I’m certain, is not as clean as some.
Wet washing there for days,
And our beds remain unmade.
Despite my fails, it’s great to be a mum.

My social life revolves,
Around a 6 and 3-year-old.
Nights out have disappeared to almost none.
Cannot wait to catch the gig,
Of the real live Peppa Pig.
Hell yeah, it’s one-long-party as a mum.

My partner may well think,
That my life is rosy pink.
He’ll imply mum days are chat, tea, cakes and fun.
But you know that’s just survival,
You need mummy friends not rivals.
Let’s hug it out, it’s fab to be a mum.

The bruises, pinches, pulling hair,
The “I hate yous” and “you’re unfair”.
There are some days you’ll feel a little glum.
Food lovingly you’ve made,
At which they merely look dismayed.
But, ha, it is so swell to be a mum.

Stress, exhaustion and the mess,
Gets too much I can confess.
Days spent mopping sick and wiping countless bums.
Being ill with kids is rotten,
Chance of duvet days forgotten.
Who cares? It’s so rewarding as a mum.

Mislaid the art of conversation,
Friends have lowered expectations.
Stick sword, lightsaber fights I’ve lost and won.
Embracing every wee,
Spent with them all joining me.
At least you’re never lonely as a mum.

Their energy is off the scale,
Soft play noise makes me go pale.
Each day up with the larks, before the sun.
Now, if I could train those birds,
to do all of my housework,
It would be a fairytale to be a mum.

Belly laughs until it hurts,
Bounds of joy, then go berserk.
In opposite directions they all run.
At least you are so tired,
In a job; you can’t be fired.
It’s proof of all the fun times as a mum.

Spending nights admiring pics,
Of your cheeky dudes and chicks.
Hard work, but who could ask for better ones?
In the face of frazzled looks,
And those dusty advice books.
You’re doing great, keep at it super mum.

© Pass Me The Valium and passmethevalium.com, 2016.

Circle of Strife (A Snapshot of Four Women on a Beach)

“Oh, look at that family over there:
So cheeky. So charming. Without a care.
I dream that we might have kiddies one day,
Building castles in sand, digging and play.
Cartwheels and giggles, shrill shrieks and fun,
Yet here I am lounging around in the sun.
Worries seem selfish — which book is the best?
Or maybe a cocktail? Or shall I go rest?
Bursting with love. I know now I am free…
But could life be better if two became three?”

“Oh, look at that couple, I so long to be,
Sitting and reading with that G and T.
How I’d love to return to chilled holidays,
Time for each other; sun, sea and way hey!
Unruffled and rested. Sat oh-so-still,
Smiling and talking (and taking the Pill).
My worries are urgent — all day seem to screech,
Military ops just to get to the beach.
I do love them so. Full-on fun this has been…
Please, 5 minutes’ peace though for this magazine?”

“Oh, look at that mum, running here and there,
Gone in a flash, that time just went where?
I loved that bedlam. Now those were the days,
Always so tired though, didn’t we say?
Grueling and crazy, magic memories made,
Hand holds and cuddles soon started to fade.
Worries “are they safe?” still stop me from rest,
Kids grown and less needy; too soon flown the nest.
Missing pick-me-up squeezes, limbs wrapping tight…
I’d go back in a heartbeat to those sleepless nights.”

“Oh, look at that woman, recalling good times,
When she never stood still, her kids crossing lines.
Disorder returns soon on Granny-care days,
But you can hand them back, feeling unfazed.
Tantrums, explosions, toothy grins and hugs,
Frolics and high jinx, and vital gin glugs.
Worries now fewer — I’ve been there, done it,
I’m helping and needed and sure keeping fit.
To start over again with hindsight would be nice…
Always want what you’ve not in the circle of strife.”

© Pass Me The Valium and passmethevalium.com, 2016.