(An ode to subsequent children)
You’re an Instagram baby, he was DSLR;
There are times when you’re not properly strapped in the car.
We binned all the books that suggested routines,
And we ditched the organic and fed you baked beans.
You’re wearing your brother’s shoes, I’m not sure if they fit,
And your white cotton vests are stained with his sh*t.
I may take twice as long to respond when you cry,
But I’m much less inclined to worry you’ll die.