Wednesday, January 14, 2009

an ode to my friends who are mothers

Gone are onesies, wet wipes, rash,
We're adding pull-ups to that stash
Or so we hope.
In comes big boy underpants,
frilly panties or dinosaurs that dance,
We dream of progress.
Methods come, endless advice;
Our children have their own device.
Training's not their choice.
Some kids go upon command,
others require a more firm hand.
Or just won't go.
Targets for the boys to hit;
Girls who scream and throw a fit;
Or sit terrified.
It seems they'll poop in every place
Except the spot reserved with space.
And then go hide.
Every country, every tongue
Has a way it must be done.
To train a child to properly
Do what does come naturally.
I've been thinking about you and praying for all of you these last few weeks!

3 comments:

Jennifer said...

I am so thankful to be done with that stage!

sara's art house said...

That's great, Monica! Did you write that? priceless!

Monica said...

Yeah, something Michelle posted on Facebook reminded me of my nephew, which led me to thinking about all of my "little friends" and how their experiences were all different.