On teething

My neck is not a teether
My ear is not one either
Do you mind if I enquire
How I've raised a half-vampire?

It is hard to keep calm
With teethmarks in your arm
But I'm sure that adoption
Isn't really an option.

And you might want to kiss her
But you just bit your sister.
Please don't do it again.
(Take deep breath, count to ten.)

Oh, how can such tiny teeth
Cause disproportionate grief?
I wish teething would end,
My poor, sore gummy friend.

Please don't batter your brother

Please don't batter your brother,
It really is awfully rude.
He thinks it's good fun,
To play with someone:
He doesn't know you're in a mood.

Please don't bash the baby,
It stresses me out to the edge.
You say that you love him:
So hug him don't shove him,
Or I'll really jump off the ledge.

Please don't pester the puss-cat,
She'll likely do more than demur.
You just want to play, see,
But that ukelele
Is not made for stroking cat-fur.

Please don't slap your sibling,
I tell you it's really not on.
It might be your toy,
But keep hitting the boy,
And mummy will make it be gone.

Please don't mither your mother.
It's been an awfully long day.
The only thought in my brain
That's keeping me sane,
Is bedtime is coming, hurray!

Help! I'm covered in Petit Filous

Help! I'm covered in Petit Filous!
It's all over me and it's all over you.
It's gone on the cat and on Daddy's shoes,
Why did I give you that spoon to use?
You're only 10 months and you've got to learn how,
But I don't think it's sweat dripping down Mummy's brow.

I've cleaned this floor twice now, and that's just today,
But what you want food for aint eating, it's play,
And Mummy is mean if she takes it away.
Tell me now, please, is there some other way?
I wail on my knees while I'm scrubbing the floor,
"Surely this is not what my life's work's meant for!"

And sometimes I wonder would it really be rude
To have our all mealtimes entirely nude?
It'd save on my washing, it might be a laugh
And time-saving to stick naked you in the bath.
But I'm saying 'oh bother' instead of a curse,
And thinking that chocolate just might have been worse.

Three meals a day, seven days in a week.
I know each one's special, each one is unique -
But how many, pray tell me, just how many more,
Til he learns how to eat and I'm freed from this chore!

(Based on his sister, another 18 months... sigh.)