Parenting Poems, Vol 1

Baby snot, baby snot
stay in one place!
You don’t have permission
to run down her face!
Is it teething? A head cold?
I don’t know for sure.
But there’s snot on my pants
and my hands and the floor.
I try to wipe it
whenever she leaks
But she twists and she thrashes,
she screams and she shrieks.
You’d think it was torture
to tissue her nose,
so instead it’s on furniture
and on my clothes.
I guess we’ll have nice things
after she grows
But for now life is speckled
with stuff from her nose.


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