One day I won’t remember the exhaustion of this morning.
Their night time trip to my bed which has left me tired and yawning.
Instead I will remember how they looked when fast asleep,
And how it felt to wake to their warm breath upon my cheek.

One day I will forget the mess of their latest glued creation.
Instead I will recall their smiles, their faces of elation.
I won’t bemoan that carrying them would leave my back a wreck,
But remember instead the gentle weight of their arms around my neck.

One day the sibling arguments will have escaped my mind.
And all I will remember are the times that they were kind.
I will forget the tantrums, the screaming and the tears,
And just recall the laughter, the giggles and the cheers.

One day I won’t recall the mess when their toys were everywhere,
Because I’ll feel a sadness that my lounge floor looks so bare.
And I won’t recall annoyance at hearing “Mummy!” on repeat,
Because I’ll wish to hear again, their lisping voice so sweet.

One day is coming quickly, in no time they’ll be grown.
Gone to live their own lives and leaving us alone.
One day I won’t remember they were difficult at all,
And that day I’ll wish for this day, when they were still so small.

Emma Robinson 2016