The Things They (Don’t) Tell You

My baby girl is sixteen today and in honour of her grand entrance to the world, I thought I'd post the poem I wrote (and had published in the anthology 'Diapers and Dimples) all about Labour Day!


Oh it was a breeze (a force ten or more)
The Midwife and the staff were so kind.
The Doctor? Well, he was a little aloof,
(but then I was sick all over him, mind).

Painful contractions? No I wouldn’t say that
(if you’re used to corsets of barbed wire).
Oh, the TENS machine, gas-n-air, you know the thing…
(But only Epidurals put out my fire).

How long was the labour? Not really that long
(if you think twenty three hours is short).
Yes, I remembered the breathing, the sighing-out-slow
(but I practised not what I was taught).

Did she suck at the breast as soon as she could?
But of course, and we bonded superbly!
Her father and I had tears filling our eyes
(FFS, hurry up with some tea!)

An episiotomy? Ach, it was only a snip!
Not half as bad as everyone makes out.
(Make it ten times as bad; it felt like a donkey
had given my rear end a good clout).

Oh yes, it’s a wonderful, memorable event,
And Alice is worth all that pain.
A brother? Oh, it’s too soon to think of just yet
(if the truth be told – never again!).

(1993)

Read this to the tune of 'My Way'

I'LL DO IT FRI-DAY
And now that Thursday’s here,
I wish I’d washed those grey net curtains.
My friends will make it clear;
The house’s a state, of that I’m certain.

I’ve left the sink so full,
Overlooked each and every grime stain.
But I’ll ignore… ignore all this
And do it Fri-day.

The pets? I’ve still got two,
And two too many, just thought I'd mention.
I fed when I had to feed,
I made quite sure they got attention.

I planned my teenage book,
Stayed late at school and stayed off e-Bay,
So more, any more than this,
I’ll do on Fri-day.

A couple of times, I think you knew,
I had quite a nasty cold-type-flu,
But through it all, I didn’t doubt,
I coughed up phlegm and spat it out.
I climbed the walls; the bins grew tall
Which I’ll empty Fri-day.

If I hadn’t laughed I think I’d have cried,
I’ve had my fill of exhausting illness,
And now, as madness subsides,
I find I do quite like this stillness.

To think I went through all that,
Most evening meals were just take-a-way
And any more, any more than this,
I’ll do on Fri-day.

We might have some ham, we might have it hot,
For dinner tonight - a nice pig in a pot.
Haven’t thought about pud, I’ll see how I feel
It might be a Muller so lids will be peeled.
The surface shows, grime really grows,
But I’ll clean up Fri---------day!

I know it's not Victoria Wood or even *shudder* Pam Ayres, but I haven't written a silly rhyme for years and I wanted to see if I still could!
Can I?