Baby Poem

I’m currently having major computer problems and my beloved MIKE is going to have to clean the whole thing off and reload it again. So I’m moving all of my documents, of which there are many, to Google docs. It’s annoying and tedious, but I am finding all kinds of forgotten nonsense like this…ahem…gem.

I may have already blogged it, I can’t remember anymore. I wrote it for my sister when she needed something to read at her son’s playgroup. Unfortunately she did not deem it appropriate for Michigan mommies and it has languished unsung ever since.

The party is over, the good times are done
It’s the end of all laughter, cause now you’re a mom.
Can’t buy new shoes, cause babies need food.
Can’t talk on the phone, cause babies are rude.

Can’t go backstage, cause babies aren’t cool.
Why not a puppy? So much less drool.
Don’t look in the mirror, your butt probably looks bad.
Babies only work for the ego of dad.

Yes now you’re a mom, like Madonna or Cher.
But no nannies, or lypo, or gorgeous fake hair.
It’s really quite horrid, but to show I still care,
Here’s a poem for your playgroup, with love, from Aunt Mare.

Author: Raffaele

Rock and roll juggernaut, writer, muse, animal lover, Cycle Slut from Hell, friend, lover, sister, daughter, nerd, fagwoman, Slytherin, killer queen.

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