It's about three o'clock in the morning,
And I'm having a wonderful dream.
Then out from my eldest son's bedroom,
I can hear a familiar scream:
"Daddy, my Daddy, want bottle!
Daddy, my Daddy, want drink!"
I silently curse my 'beloved',
And I start off the trek to the sink.
I gingerly pull off the duvet,
And put my feet down on the floor,
I step onto something quite pointy,
Then silently curse him some more.
I fumble my way to the doorway,
But I stub my big toe on the bed.
As I reach down to check out the damage,
I end up just banging my head.
As I limp towards the top of the stairway,
I trip on some discarded shoes.
Then I bang my knee off of the banister,
And a fresh bout of cursing ensues.
I walk down the stairs very carefully,
In case I fall over with sleep.
I make it at last to the bottom,
Then I trip and end up in a heap.
I dig out a (clean?) empty bottle,
And fill halfway to the top.
I heat it for 25 seconds.
While I die on the cold counter top.
When the bottle is finally heated,
I retrace my steps back upstairs.
But I scrape my leg off of the cabinets,
And remove several million hairs.
I just about keep it together,
As I walk in my son's bedroom door.
But he takes his first sip of the bottle.
And throws it back down on the floor.
"Too cold!!" he shouts, scolding me crossly.
And his words cut me deep like a knife.
For the thoughts that I have at that moment,
I could end up with twenty-to-life.
So I have to repeat my whole journey,
And I make it real hot, just in case.
My son gulps the bottle down hungrily,
Then the empty gets thrown in my face.
At last I get back to my pillow,
And it seems like I might get some rest.
And I promise myself that tomorrow,
I will get that paternity test...
© Copyright 2016 Baz. All rights reserved.