At birth: "It's A Girl"

Her father rather hoped, I think,
A son and heir would be our first;
But when he saw her, swathed in pink,
His views were loyally reversed.

"A girl won't ever have to go
Through what makes waiting fathers wrecks,"
He said and smiled. "Besides, you know,
Girls always were my favorite sex."

At 1 - Could the Experts not Always know Everything?

I almost said, "If just once more
You throw your cereal on the floor,
I'll spank you!" But,of course, I knew
That's something I must never do.

So, as advised, I cleaned the mess
Without ado, but, I confess
I hoped, as calmly I just smiled,
I wasn't ruining my child.

At 2 - Lullaby

"Hush, child. Don't cry, my darling;
The Lord your soul will keep.
The rose, the lamb, the starling
Are all now fast asleep."

"Another drink of water?
You really don't want more.
What now? Again, my daughter?
You've been three times before."

"Your dolls and toys lie dreaming;
It's only you who won't.
Oh, darling, please stop screaming,
I need the rest if you don't!"

At 3 - Dear Dr. Spock

I love your book on baby care:
It tells me, every page,
Just how my little child should fare
At each unfolding stage.

You've written how she ought to be
In growth, in word, in deed,
The only trouble is, you see,
She hasn't learned to read.

At 4 - Temper Tantrum

One day when I had merely said,
"It's time now, dear, to go to bed,"
My little angel shouted, "No!
I hate you! I'm not going to go!"

I tried to take it airily,
And wait it out - Abruptly she,
All passion spent,her face alight,
Cried, "Mommy, Hold me tight tonight."

At 5 - It's A Responsibility

Today she's my shadow wherever I'm at:
She follows each move as I dust, when I cook;
She walks in my shoes and she tries on my hat;
She sits very solemnly reading my book.

She tells me, "I love you so much, Mommy dear!"
And "When I'm grown-up, d'you know what I'll be?
A mommy like you!" Well, that's lovely to hear -
But what self-restraint it imposes on me!

At 6 - Six Is So Sudden!

And now, I wonder, what is this?
My angel child, my treasure,
Who used to beg a hug, a kiss,
Now metes out shrill displeasure.

"I won't!" she yells
And stamps the floor
With insolent rebellion:
"You're not my mother anymore!"
My goodness, she's a hellion.

Her manners are a rude disgrace;
She has no match for boldness.
I can't think where she caught this case
Of raging six-year-oldness.

At 7 - Peace, It's Wonderful

Now she's a quiet and sensitive seven,
Eager to please. And, oh, isn't it heaven!

At 8 - Catastrophe

And then came the day when she had to have a cat
Had to have a cat, had to have a cat,
To live with us and stay
It mattered not a hat were kitty lean or fat
Or black or white or gray or blind as any bat.
"Please, Mommy, say okay -
She'd be so soft to pat, a little cat."
How could I ever say I'd abominate a cat,
Couldn't bear a cat, wouldn't have a cat,
Not Siamese or stray.
(To see her stalk a rat and eat it on the mat -
I shuddered with dismay at just the thought of that!)
"Now run away and play -You have your doll to pat."
P.S. That very day we got the cat.

At 9 - The Literary Life

We read her all the well-known tales
That children love in childhood,
Of fairies, princes, bears, and whales,
And pixies in the wildwood.

Then came the storybooks of gold,
The yellow, red, and blue ones,
The classic favorites of old
And recommended new ones.

She met Tom Sawyer, Alice, Kim,
Hans Brinker, Uncle Remus,
Nils, Mary Poppins, Tiny Tim,
Black Beauty, Nicodemus.

And books for all her schooltime needs
From crafts to economics -
She has them every one, and reads - the comics.

At 10 - And She Comes From Such A Nice Family!

The language she uses would shock Army men -
Unless they're the father of someone aged ten.
But sometimes I wonder is this, too, a phase?
Or will she be wanton the rest of her days?

At 11 - Growing Up

Her girl friends are many, her boyfriends are none.
She hates boys, she tells me -they're dumb, every one.
Still-recently, archly, she flipped at me, "Ma,"
(She's flat as a pancake) "Can I wear a bra?"

At 12 - Teetering On The Springboard Of 'Teen

Just yesterday a child, today
she's knobby-legged and skittish grown.
Now shy, uncertain of her way,
now brassy-bold, she sprints alone.

Bemused but curious, she sips
Sophistication's cup of brews
With fashion's red she paints her lips
Yet runs in mildewed tennis shoes.

I wonder what's in store for her -
So young, so old, so in-between:
Slow adolescent years? No sir -
She's twelve now, going on sixteen !!

Author Unknown