Born Tired

Born Tired

I sat on that egg till my bum went numb,

Wondering when my baby would come,

My feathers were aching, my patience was thin,

Then one little crack and the love crept in.

I shuffled around trying to get comfy each night,

Left cheek then right cheek, nothing felt right,

I moaned to the moon and complained to the tree,

Why does motherhood hurt quite so much for me?

Then early one morning I heard a small tap,

I thought, “Oh please, not another false crack,”

But the shell gave a wobble, then split right in two,

And a tiny blue head came suddenly through.

He looked up at me with his funny little face,

All scruffy and wobbly and lacking in grace,

His feathers stuck sideways, his eyes hardly wide,

But something enormous went warm deep inside.

He opened his beak and demanded his tea,

No thank you, no manners, just shouting at me,

I thought, “After all that, you cheeky young thing,”

Then he cuddled beneath my exhausted old wing.

My bum was still sore and my feathers a mess,

My nest looked like something survived a distress,

I hadn’t slept properly, goodness knows when,

Yet I looked at my baby and loved him again.

He stumbled about on his ridiculous feet,

Then fell on his bottom and started to tweet,

I laughed till my tired little bird belly shook,

For nobody warned me how funny he’d look.

I forgot all the waiting, the aches and the pain,

I’d sit on that egg if I had to again,

For there in my nest was the love of my life,

Worth every sore feather and night full of strife.

So I’m resting today while my baby stays near,

With his tiny blue head and his feathers so queer,

And although being Mum nearly finished my bum,

Just look at my baby, I’m glad that he’s come. ❤️