A Jill-Poem Entitled “Someday, I’m Gonna Miss This”

Someday, I’m gonna miss this:

The noises you make when you’re bored.

The constant stickiness of your fingers, the floor—everything.

The giggles: a sure sign of mischief!

Or when you actually get my jokes.

Like the one about Burger King having plenty of buns

But no diapers.

Someday, I’m gonna miss this:

Our all-night rendez-vous with pain medicine.

That lasts for days and days—then a tooth!

The joy you get from squishing grapes on the kitchen floor,

Or smashing crackers into the carpet,

Or spreading spilled milk on the table with your fingers.

And then blame it on the cat,

Or the baby.

Someday, I’m gonna miss this:

The way you hold my face in your chubby hands,

And smile that toothless grin,

Or nuzzle your forehead against mine,

Or tickle my sides just to get me to jump,

Or tease me by saying you don’t like my food—you love it.

When you blast music and dance interpretative-ly.

How you snuggle my leg, or arm, or elbow,

Anything you can reach.

Even when I’m in a rut,

When the emotional valley is dark and deep,

When I wish kids came with a mute button,

And the dishes are as high as Everest,

When no one has anything clean to wear,

And the zucchini in the fridge is growing so much furry mold

I’m afraid it will growl if I pick it up.

I still think to myself:

Someday, I’m gonna miss this.

© Copyright Jill Burgoyne

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