The Joys of Parenthood

I mentioned in my previous post that I’d had little time for online pontification. To elaborate slightly on this, it’s because my wife and I recently became parents, with all the privileges and responsibilities that come with it.

Frankly, that serves as all the preamble you should require for the verses below, which are to be sung to the tune of The Hippopotamus Song by Flanders and Swann, and describe just some of the unending pleasures that parenthood brings.

The Joys of Parenthood

A cute little baby was lying one night,

Quiet and still in his sleep.

When an unpleasant feeling came over the mite,

That welled up from somewhere so deep.

A sense that his stomach was nowhere near full,

And needed some thing put inside.

No buts and no maybe,

And so that small baby,

Woke up, and he violently cried:

"Milk, milk, lovely milk,

Perfect for babies and all of their ilk,

Oh feed me, oh feed me,

Oh parents I'm needy,

I'm feeling so greedy for lovely milk!"

His parents awoke and jumped out of their bed,

Though they were both mostly asleep.

They ran for the kitchen but met up instead,

And both of them fell in a heap.

They scrambled back up and they made up some milk,

From a carton of powdery stuff.

They did what you oughta,

And mixed it with water,

And hoped that it would be enough.

"Milk, milk, lovely milk,

Perfect for babies and all of their ilk,

Oh feed me, oh feed me,

Oh parents I'm needy,

I'm feeling so greedy for lovely milk!"

They rushed to his side with the bottle in hand,

They got the teat into his mouth.

For just a few seconds it all seemed quite grand,

Then everything quickly went south.

He gave what they thought was a beautiful smile,

Then a stench started filling the air.

His parents, unhappy,

Looked down at his nappy,

And then looked back up in despair.

"Milk, milk, lovely milk,

Perfect for babies and all of their ilk,

Oh feed me, oh feed me,

Oh parents I'm needy,

I'm feeling so greedy for lovely milk!"

They looked at each other and said, 'It's your turn!"

The dad rolled his eyes but agreed.

He opened the nappy, it made his guts churn,

As he looked at the latest misdeed.

Wielding a wipe he began on his task,

Cleaning with well-practiced grace.

But he hadn't reckoned,

In that very second,

The baby'd wee right in his face!

"Milk, milk, lovely milk,

Perfect for babies and all of their ilk,

Oh feed me, oh feed me,

Oh parents I'm needy,

I'm feeling so greedy for lovely milk!"

The mother stepped forward, her son to attend,

While her husband was spitting out wee.

The baby looked winsome and tried to pretend,

"The culprit, oh mother's not me!"

She got him redressed and had picked him back up,

When she came to a juddering stop.

As fast as a comet,

Her darling boy vomited

Right down the front of her top!

"Milk, milk, lovely milk,

Perfect for babies and all of their ilk,

Oh feed me, oh feed me,

Oh parents I'm needy,

I'm feeling so greedy for lovely milk!"

An hour or two later the parents retired,

The baby once more in his bed.

Weary and dampened, joint-achingly tired,

Their eyes were all puffy and red.

They both lay back down and had just drifted off,

When they heard a familiar strain.

The baby was telling,

By means of its yelling,

"Oh parents! I'm hungry again!"

"Milk, milk, lovely milk,

Perfect for babies and all of their ilk,

Oh feed me, oh feed me,

Oh parents I'm needy,

I'm feeling so greedy for lovely milk!"

Copyright Thomas Jones 2019

The Small Kitchen Waltz

Time to inflict some more of my writing on you. I am, apparently, a ‘millennial’. For those of you unfamiliar with the term, it is a word used by trendy but idiotic people to pigeonhole every single person born between about 1980 and 2000. Because obviously generalisations made about such a broad range of ages, influenced as we have been by the rapid advances in communication technology over this period, must hold good. Ok, rant over.

One of the ‘millennial’ traits that does hold true is the fact that I do not own my own house; I’ve lived in a string of different rented flats and houses over the last decade. One common feature of such places, especially when shared with partners or housemates, is that the kitchen is usually woefully inadequate to requirements. As a result, when more than one of you wishes to use it, you are forced into an intricate dance in which you circle and weave around each other, often while holding hot pans or full kettles.

It is to people who have lived or still live in such circumstances that the below is respectfully dedicated. This is actually written as a song rather than a poem, and I do have a tune in mind. If you’re very unlucky and run into me in person I will share it with you.

The Small Kitchen Waltz

My darling we rented a small maisonette,

When we viewed it, it seemed rather ace.

But when we inspected one thing we neglected:

Does the kitchen have quite enough space?

It’s something we both should have noticed at once,

But really it’s neither our faults,

And we both can get in if we side-step and spin,

And we join in the Small Kitchen Waltz!

There's only one cupboard and only two drawers,

No pantry and only one shelf,

And while I am in it you must wait a minute,

There's barely the room for myself.

But if we are patient and if we are kind,

And don't act like ninnies or dolts,

And we just take our turn then how quickly we'll learn,

How to dance to the Small Kitchen Waltz!

The space from the sink to the bin’s rather small,

From the fridge to the cooker’s not wide.

And when I am in it, you must wait a minute,

There’s no room to work side by side!

But if I step this way and you move around,

We can cook and wash up without halts.

And each day of the week we’ll be pressed cheek to cheek,

As we dance to the Small Kitchen Waltz!

As we join in the dance that’s been trodden before,

By those with no room to manoeuvre,

If you pass me the saucepan, and move to your left,

I can turn and then plug in the hoover.

Then I’ll move to the right, and we’ll circle again,

As you get down the spices and salts,

And my dear we’ll make do, though there’s no room for two,

We will circle and slide and we’ll spin to the side,

Taking our chance in this romantic dance,

As we master the Small Kitchen Waltz!

Copyright Thomas Jones 2017