I am going to write every day this year, starting yesterday. Really I am always writing in my mind, creating characters, thinking up poetry verses, describing the snow as it lingers towards the ground… But now I am making a commitment to writing, to stepping it up, making my dreams happen, write here, write now. So here’s my first poem, for my stubborn butt of a three-year-old:

Potty Training

You stand on piggy-fat legs
shamelessly letting loose
the pee you promised me wasn’t there
ruining my carpet once again

I carry you to the top of the stairs
your thin blondish hair billowing
against your tender cheek
and all you do is giggle your shame away,
look up into my browns with your mysterious hazels,
and whisper, in quiet three-year-old desperation,
“Mama, I weawy wuv you.”

And once again,
despite the frustrated tears that sting me from inside,
I cannot be angry with you.