(Adapted from Clement Clarke Moore’s A Visit from St. Nicholas)
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
All the creatures were stirring, in our messy house;
We parents were rushing bedtime stories (“not fair!”),
In hopes dear sweet sleep soon would be there;
The children were bouncing up and down on the bed
While dreaming of gifts and cookies, we sighed with dread;
Daddy with his tools, and I knee-deep in new plastic crap,
Had just poured some beer from a long-drawn tap,
When up in their rooms we heard a loud shatter,[Though I was really quite sure it was no big matter.]
So wrapping and taping and assembling our stash,
We swigged some more beer, mourning lost cash.
When what to my dark-circled eyes did appear,
But a crib full of poop, (I eyed another beer),
With a tiny baby all covered in shit,
I knew in a moment, well this is it.
Louder than seagulls, my son’s words then came,
And he cried, and laughed, and called us by name:
“Now Mama! Now Dada! Now baby and cousin!
Into my room, for more o’ that dancin’ and singin’!
To the top of my bed! Let’s have a ball!
Come now, come now, come now ALL!”
Husband hurried his way up to the room asking why? why?,
And met with our little son, frolicking joyfully in his sty;
So it was back to bed, my silly kid knew
With a final kiss goodnight and drink of water too.
And then, heart sinking, I cleaned up the poop
And put baby back in her crib with one fell swoop.
“Pour me a drink,” said husband, holding all he could carry
“Before I give up on making Christmas so merry.”
We toasted a glass and tried not to bristle,
Putting together all that rings and whistles.
Then I whispered to my spouse, lest he lose sight—
“Merry Christmas to all, let’s fight the good fight!”