Saturday, April 5, 2014

Let the Day Begin

Day 4 of National Poetry Month


Let the Day Begin
By Candace Shultz

Every morning when I wake
I have just a few breaths to take
before I hear your crying voice,
giving me no other choice
but to get out of bed to pee
and then go to your room to see
your PJs off and diaper down,
"Mama, up" your only sound.

I clean you up and get you dressed.
Then I hold you to my chest.
I breathe the scent of your baby skin,
just pausing a moment to take it all in,
until you squirm and demand to eat,
so I set you back on your feet.

Throughout the day I cook and clean.
I flick off boogers from my jeans.
I wipe you down from head to toe.
Where all the dirt comes from, I don't know.
We play with blocks and puzzles and dolls.
I try to prevent you from taking falls.
We dance, we sing, we jump, we spin.
Then I take the garbage to the bin.
I read to you a hundred times,
Dr. Seuss with all his rhymes.

When you whine or throw a fit,
I still love you. I'll never quit.
But I want to get some rest,
to calm down, and to be my best.
Perfection I will never attain,
but I need to fill your brain
with knowledge, love, morals too.
What's a mom supposed to do?

At the end of the day, I tuck you in.
I give you kisses with a grin.
I turn out your light and say goodnight
while you talk until I'm out of sight.
And though I'm tired, I still try to clean.
I think about my little queen.
Did I do right by her today?
Did we get enough time to play?
Was I nice or was I mean?
Did I let her watch too much screen?
I pray to be a good mom for her.
I hope to be the best for my daughter.

And when I finally go to bed,
I close my eyes and rest my head.
I fall asleep in my husband's arms
only to wake to the next morning's alarms.
Then I hear a little voice say "Mama."
I go to your room and see no pajamas.
I clean you up and get you dressed.
Then I hold you tight to my chest. 
I pause a moment to breathe you in.
Then I let the day begin.