You’re a thing we talk about.
We laugh about.
We jest about.
In between bouncing babies and miles to be run,
We twitter behind your back.
It’s not a secret that you’re a joke,
A dream we all must dream.
But there you are, without a notice,
You’ve gone and snuck between our sheets.
While our children were taking shape,
Our minutes ticking by,
We bounced, we cried, we jeered.
So while we laughed about you,
We thought you’d never come,
There you are on the heels of children grown.
I’ll sleep when I’m dead,
Means something very new.
I’ll miss holding their hands,
More than I ever missed you.