“It’s going to be fun
For you have always gelled well
With every little one”
My dearest ones told me this
When I was blessed with a son.
No, don’t do this,
Why don’t you try that.
Stop playing with the spices,
Go play with your bat.
Stop throwing a tantrum,
For I won’t give you my cellphone.
Blue stars for every good deed,
Black stars for not paying me a heed.
I will reward you if you be good,
Else will take your favourite toy and scoot.
I tried and tested every advice,
Recalling that my class of 30 was amazingly nice.
I could handle them with perfection,
But my own showed no flexion.
It’s time to get him a sibling,
The new role will be fulfilling.
Another boy it was meant to be,
Sweet brotherhood I thought I’ll see.
One year later I woke up from my dream,
There was a hard crust under the cream.
Screams and cries became an everyday affair,
Feuds became fights for me to interfere.
Joys of raising boys is that you call?
Stress and yelling make my hair fall!
Girls are always caring I sometimes yell,
Get ‘Baby Alive Doll’ my elder one tells.
Let’s send them to boardings,
For they’ll learn discipline and good things.
That’s the last resort we say,
But the heart remains in dismay.
Hundreds of sorrries
The kisses during those worries,
Hugs and cuddles are my big treat.
These tiring years will soon fly,
When I’ll realize these energetic boys are my only joy!