This little limeric is a stark reminder of what mother's of small children go through on a regular basis. The Poem is called A MOTHER'S LAMENT
The perils of being a mother, are equal to not any other.
For granted she's taken, and often mistaken, for a robot. She'll do it, why bother.
I'll give you a vague estimation, of what one day is like at her station.
The deeds of great fame aren't always the same, but she is sure to get all of her ration.
A mom has a time clock she punches. Breakfast dishes done, oops, time for lunches.
From 8 to 12, hey, all her time's slipped awaqy. Now she's got to find out what that crunch is.
That's probably why nothing gets done; her off-springs keep her on the run.
She starts with the dishes, then every child's wishes,
comes out in the voice of just one.
As mom is changing the baby, the other kids their thinking, "maybe,
She'll be busy a while."
To each other they smile.
Then she hears one kid holler, "DON'T SPRAY ME."
It takes her a while to turn loose, the one who's been knick-named caboose.
As she gets on the scene, one is dripping but clean.
And the other one has an excuse.
All mothers know the excuses, it's the same one that every child uses.
He changes the name, but the stories' the same,
And the other kid that he accuses.
After a few more stansas riddled with calamities, the poem continues.
Her duties are started again. With the hope that she gets at least ten
Minutes to get things done,
and there's not even one.
It's lunch time now, ol mother hen.
She hopes as she smiles forcibly, after getting son out of yon tree.
They will eat with no fuss, and a little less muss,
than the normal day turns out to be.
The lunch turns up half on the floor, and they turned up their noses like before.
As usual , she fixed it---and as usual they nixed it,
and then in an hour they want more.
After supper she wails to her spouse, "I'VE GOT TO GET OUT OF THIS HOUSE.
I THINK YOU WILL FIND THAT I'M LOSING MY MIND,
AND YES! THIS IS BLOOD ON MY BLOUSE!"
Then hubby starts pulling his rank, and say's, "Dear, I'll be truly frank.
When the children don't mind,
I"m sure you will find,
That it might be because you're a crank.
Now---as for you losing your mind. That's silly, sit down and unwind.
It's not quite as bad
as it seems, just be glad,
you don't have to put up with my grind.
If you did would you ever get tough.
So you think that you've got it rough,
staying home all day, with the kids. BY THE WAY, COULD YOU PLEASE KEEP THEM OUT OF MY STUFF?
HEY KEEP THAT KID QUIET IN THERE, AND KEEP THIS ONE OUT OF MY HAIR.
THEY NEED A GOOD WHACKEN. YOUR DISCIPLINE IS LACKIN,
I THINK I'LL GO GET ME SOME AIR."
As the door shuts in tired mama's face, she continues to keep up her pace.
Her man's work is through, she still has her's to do,
and still hasn't got to first base.
She's tugged at by one or the other. And it's a drink for the other ones brother.
"Ah"---she sighs with delight,
"It soon will be night."
And so---ends the day of----------A MOTHER.