Why is it you?

mummy's writing darling

Why is it you?

 

At age two, to a goose, I wouldn’t say boo
whereas you son, would shoot it and stuff it too.

Why is it you?

who cant sit still, while fifteen others do,
Who has to play with the fire extinguisher on the wall,
while everyone else is queuing, single file, down the hall?

Why is it you who has to snatch the block off the three month old,
who doesn’t seem to acknowledge anything you are told,
who needs to jump up and down at the front,
who has to roar, bark, gurn and grunt?

Why do you always rugby tackle the babies,
leap and stomp and stamp on the daisies?

When others are sitting, listening sweetly in a trance,
why are you performing a deranged, erratic, river dance?

When everyone is singing ‘twinkle twinkle little star’ notes
why are you trying to shove the maracas down your throat?

Why is it you – and seemingly no other?
Can you not see everyone judging your mother?

When you turn five and all you ask is why,
why, why, why, why, why?

I shall say, great question son, glad you asked
Why, when you were two, were you such an arse?

poetry, mummy's writing darling
why is it you?

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The Arduous Age of Why

Mummy's Writing Darling

The Age of Why

My four year old has reached a mile stone. He has entered the age of ‘Why’. I had heard of this stage but had underestimated the damaging effect of this era on the parents. My sympathy is with you if you are currently in this age.

It started about two weeks ago on our way to swimming:

“Why do we need roads?”

Say what now?

“Why do we need roads?”

Erm… for the cars to go on? (Phew, dodged that one, glad that’s over!)

“Why do we need cars?”

Say what now?

“Why do we need cars?”

To get from A to B?

It’s at this point you realise that you’re really and truly not qualified to answer life’s toughest questions, to be a parent or, indeed, to be a human.

And the Hell just keeps on acomin.

“Why do cars have wheels?”

I frantically looked around for a Primary school teacher or a scientist.

So that they can move? (I literally don’t know enough about wheels).

“Why do we have bollards?”

Who the actual fuck has taught you about bollards? Who has been using that word around you? Who are you right now?

Then just one after the other, again and again and again. It never, ever stops.

“Why do we have grass? Why do we need animals? Why do we need trousers? Why do we swim in water? Why do we eat food? Why do we have a night time? Why do we sleep? Why do we wake up? Why do we poo?”

Where is sodding Nina and her Neurons? Go and ask her FFS!

“Why do we need children?” was my question that morning.

Then yesterday came the best one yet.

“Mummy, what are those big things on your belly?”

He meant my breasts. I wondered what to call them at first – again, no one has qualified me to answer medical questions. Boobs? Boobies? Tits? What will be the worst thing he can repeat loudly on the bus when he sees another pair?

Those are breasts darling.

“Why do you need them?”

I thought long and hard….

Well, darling, they feed babies and they sometimes get me free drinks.

Education done.

Mummy's Writing Darling
The age of why