A barricade of prams of parents before block my path,
As vengeous and hormonal, they unleash their wrath.
Perfectly preened they cast their eye,
Determined and prepped to make me cry.

In gangs of two, three and four,
In my tatty carrycot they abruptly pore.
“You’re swaddling her wrong”, “no dummy after  12 weeks”
“By six months you need to stop those morning sleeps”.

A barrage of advice hits me smack in the face,
As they leave me feeling an utter disgrace.
Doubts envelop and squeeze me tight,
As a lack of confidence crushes with all its might.

I wish I could be like them, the perfect mum,
Not plagued by despair that leaves me numb.
I wish I could keep calm and keep my cool,
To fight back the tears as she screams and bawls.

As angry eyes dart and look on at her fit of rage,
I yearn to have a child like theirs, so meek and sage.
But like me, she stands from the crowd,
In a world where difference is not allowed.

A rule breaker, she won’t sit or do as you say,
However hard you discipline, bribe or pay.
An individual, she listens only to herself,
Irrespective of the danger or risk to her health.

I may be a rubbish parent under their judgemental glare,
But however bad I am, at least I’m there.
I may be following this rule book all wrong,
Forgetting every lyric to every nursery song.

I may not be the parenting example,
But my love for her is more than ample.
While I may fail, I will keep on trying
to ignore your judgement and incessant prying.

I know my child is better than your held view,
And her welfare doesn’t need to involve you.
I don’t need your input, your say or piece.
No matter if she’s your granddaughter, neighbour or niece.


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