I was going to be the parent who never raised her voice. Who cooked you fresh organic food, bought only wooden toys. Today I’ve screamed a thousand times and threatened measures drastic. You’ve had chips, three times this week, and our lounge is full of plastic I was going to be the parent with a craft box fully stocked. Tissue, card and googly eyes: a Pritt stick ready cocked. But I found I couldn’t make stuff; my creations were pathetic. And glitter makes me want to drink until I’m paralytic. I was going to be the parent who made your birthday cake. But after one horrendous fail, I’m now a shop-bought fake. I was going to be the parent who kept every childhood something. But I seem to have lost your lock of hair and your baby book has nothing. I planned on baby massage, baby yoga, all things artistic. What you got was: ‘baby watch whilst mummy eats her weight in biscuits.’ I thought I’d be the parent who loved her child a lot. Kept them safe, fed them well and cleaned their stinky bot. But the love I felt when you were born just knocked my off my feet. A love that makes me place my hand just to feel your heart’s soft beat. I may not be the parent that I first set out to be. But I’m the parent that truly loves you and forever that I’ll be. Bar the birthday cake bit, this is so me!
Posted on: Wed, 17 Sep 2014 20:36:40 +0000
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