Married with children:
An aubade
One foot in mouth.
This is not figuratively speaking,
or an erotic reminiscence of a fetish,
but an alarm going off
at six something AM,
a sharp kick in the head
from a body so small.
We were told attachment parenting
all the way—
a kangaroo with a joey in her pouch,
a cub hiding beneath her mother’s copious flesh and fur,
just like in nature
so they grow up to be well-adjusted adults.
Turn.Smack.
Wriggle. A scream
piercing the morning-night.
No bed big enough for
check: Two adults
check: Two children
under the age of two.
The husband/father turns to his side,
desperately clinging onto and clawing a three-inch spot
at the edge.
The wife/mother writhes out from underneath
the horizontal mess of tiny limbs and milk breath.
stay asleep stay asleep stay asleep
phew.
She thinks of how the bed used to speak of
passion, romance, kinky play, deep peaceful sleep,
but now the bed shrieks of
piss, sour milk, vomit, Country Floral Lysol, and sleepless nights of
who knows whose finger is lodged in my eyeball now?
She arranges her angels
1, 2, and yes 3,
all in a row,
anoints warm foreheads with a kiss,
and remembers who she is on the couch.
“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