365 days - one full year turned, from whence you came and we learned,
What fate had brought
us, babe or brute. “Cry all night long just make him cute!”
From overdues and
false alarms, you finally dropped into our arms,
That thing once just a
duck-like scan, now thrust unto our virgin hands.No pain relief and stern midwife, contractions on the bus? That’s London life.
Part English, Swedish and science fiction, born London Town to Nigerian diction.
Through January’s freeze as cold as death, that first night hung on your every breath.
Midwives came and then they went, until your folks were all but spent,
To me this now seems
just a blur, though I’m sure your mum would beg to differ.
Soon came our friends,
family and mates, drinking tea from mugs and eating biscuits off plates.With cards and presents and love and fuss, we welcomed them in but longed for just us.
Who would have known there was such a treat, as to hear you fart whilst you’re asleep?
Small bottom burps and big loud trumps, the largest ones that make you jump.
Your face so sad as if
it knows, when it is time for me to go.
Your face so glad when
I come home, like you’re the dog and I’m your bone.
Well here we are and
how far you’ve come, perched on the cusp of turning one.
And though it’s been
but just one year, I struggle to remember before you were here.
Before the chatter and
cheeky grins, the eel-like crawl and crazy spins,
This little man now in
our bed, you take my space and kick my head.
But I can’t complain,
I never could, ‘cos I have got it pretty good.
When all’s said and
done and in the end, I’m just dead chuffed with my best friend.
