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Being a ParentThe house is untidy from window to door,
Marks on the walls and food on the floor.
The washing’s unwashed
And the dishes are too,
There’s scum in the bathroom
And fat on the stew.
There are toys in the passage
And under our feet,
The garden’s a jungle
When seen from the street.
So what have I done, then,
To earn my repose?
To just look around me
You’d say no one knows!
I’ve held a small hand
As her first steps she took.
I’ve made animal noises
As we read a book.
I’ve built a mud pie
And admired a snail;
I’ve rescued the cat
From a grip on her tail.
I’ve wiped away tears,
And I’ve listened to tales.
So I guess what I’ve done
Isn’t easy to see –
It won’t clean the house,
And it won’t cook the tea.
But if I have helped make a child feel good,
Know that she’s loved and that she’s understood,
Then I know that my work, though not easy to see
Is just as important as any could be.
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