‘If my children slept,’ she wept, ‘I’d get all my housework done.’
‘During the light summer nights, I could enjoy a beer on the decking and watch the setting sun.’
‘If my children slept,’ she wept, ‘my evenings would be free.’
‘I could complete my day’s marking and then watch American box sets on my TV.’
‘If my children slept,’ she wept, ‘the other half and I could share an evening date.’
‘Who am I kidding there?’ she mused. ‘No way would I ever venture out and stay up late.’
‘My children don’t like sleeping,’ she cried. ‘Why is this so true?’
‘After watching Barbie: Life in my Dreamhouse a dozen times, the girl will always suddenly need a poo.’
‘My children don’t like sleeping,’ she cried. ‘They’re afraid to sleep alone.’
‘There are no monsters under our beds though, just the Other Half laying in the girl’s room playing Tetris on his phone.’
‘My children don’t like sleeping,’ she moaned. ‘Even thick formula doesn’t do the trick.’
‘And when I pull out a boob for comfort, the boy decides to projectile vomit.’
‘My children just don’t like sleeping,’ she confirmed. ‘I know I am always complaining.’
‘It’s been six months since the boy came along and I am desperate to go netball training.’
‘Shhhh, my children are sleeping,’ she whispered. ‘The house is finally quiet.
‘I’m off to raid the fridge for chocolate and destroy my post pregnancy diet.’
‘Shhhh, my children are sleeping,’ she mused. ‘Finally some alone time.’
‘In fear of them waking up, I never get to savour my red wine.
‘Shhhh, my children are sleeping,’ she whispered. ‘Adult talk for mum and dad.’
‘But he tells me I look tired, hooks up Netflix and starts to watch Breaking Bad.’
‘Shhhh, my children are finally sleeping,’ she says. ‘I think the boy must be teething.’
‘I’ll just nip back upstairs, you know, to check they’re both ok and still breathing…’
I don’t even know why I have used the pronoun ‘she’. You all know the person in the poem is me.