Ode to My Son

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My, My, My
How could this be
That my child is a dictator
Who is only three
I thought you were easy
When you were just one
But now you are quite the high-maintenance son

Your list of demands
Makes it hard to keep up
With your "no sauce on my pasta!"
And "ice in my cup!"
You're the three year old ruler
Yes, that's what it's like
Who still wears Pull Ups
Since you pee at night

You cry "Get Away!
I can do it myself!"
But still want me to dress you
and to buckle your belt
You hate wearing socks
And any long-sleeved shirt
You want to be "free"
but that's just one of your quirks

You hate getting wet
And don't want dirt on your clothes
Is my list done yet
Of the things that you loathe?
No, it's just the beginning
Yes, that's just the start
Yet somehow you still manage
To capture my heart

Some days I see you
And see pieces of me
And some days I wonder
If you're three or thirteen
Lord, help me love you
The best that I can
And not tear my hair out
Or forget who's in command

I know we'll get through this
And I'll look back and smile
But Lord, give me patience
Because I've been here awhile

So as you lay sleeping
I'll kiss your sweet face
Tomorrow's a new day
Lord, give me grace.

(Copyright 2009 - by Jaimie Bowman)