Motherhood
She limpits my leg
suctioned on, screaming
for an icy-pole.
He buckles and squirms,
in arms, wanting out,
wanting down, up, on, off.
She calls me stupid, a bitch.
Mightily high and strumpeted
she throws open the freezer
and fingers her prize.
He demands suction,
bodily moulding
of mouth and breast.
He sucks on my arm, and
wails like a wounded seal
at the lack of sustenance.
She’s quiet now,
flinted and formidable
the challenge is made.
I don’t have the energy.
My battle gear is mulched under
four years of dirty nappies.
Half-hearted, half –arsed,
“No…”
I suggest, but she’s immovable
and I waver only slightly, before caving.
Sternly- “Only one” I say,
but face is not saved
and I’ve doomed her to ‘brat-hood’.
I sit.
He sucks, she sucks,
he kneads me like a stress ball
she plays me like a lute.
And we’re all happy.
“Being at home can be fun, insulating, relaxed, boring or isolating ... depending on how the day is going.”*
School holidays are almost over in my part of the world – six long weeks of noise and squabbling balanced by hot, lazy days at the beach or the pool with lots of daring exploits and laughter. Many of our days were spent at home, basking in simple pleasures like baking, playing games or outdoor pursuits – trying to relax the everyday routines of school-morning bustle and ‘having to be somewhere on time’. However pleasant, I must admit to being relieved that life gets back to normal next week, and I can reclaim some of my own time for writing again!
* From Being Mummy by Anne‑marie Taplin published April 2007