It's Sunday.
She's up at 6,
And she's LOUD
Demanding malties, and an apple,
And making Mummy play swords.

I can't even face coffee.

There she is, sword in hand, Sunday smile
(I've got MUMMY!)
My back hurts and I haven't slept
But I must wave this sword and
Pick a crusty something from her hair.

My happy little nightmare,
Child of my heart,
I envy you.
You bounce from bed, and are ready to go,
No subtleties of mood, or inner conflict
And you're years away from back pain,
Or a bad mood caused by lack of sleep.

Last night, between 2 and 4am,
I walked you back to bed a few thousand times
As you cried, and begged to sleep with me.
At least someone wants to.
Daddy snores away, he'll be down around 10
All smiles, and wanting to head to the park.

This is baby morning.
I remember other mornings -
A leisurely coffee, bagels,
An almost pleasant hangover,
The papers, lazy ***.

Baby morning.
Will I ever look back at you
Wistfully, and wish I could return to
Apple demands, sagging *****,
Swords, exhaustion, cuddles, giggles,
Overwhelming love?