A poem of sorts to a stay-at-home mother of toddlers.

I can feel your agony.
Here, stuck against the wall of the board room, power point droning on,
I watch the large red digital clock flick through the seconds.

At home, the children flit around with ever increasing rigor.
Never napping, always desiring so much more than you can give them.

When my mind is bent on creation, the pain evaporates.
I run and grow tired but not weary.
Like God making the earth with joy and fervor, but resting on the seventh day.

How hard it must be to see your creation run wild, feeding back, sprouting inches every week!
They know no sabbath and hence neither do you.
Your husband is both a comfort and another complex variable.

Enough to drive our own maker mad, if we were more like him.
Lord have mercy and make us more like you.

One Response to “A poem of sorts to a stay-at-home mother of toddlers”

  1. Erin J. says:

    Awww, thanks Bear. :) Cheers to all the other crazy-bored SAHMs out there. :)

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