• Although one can doubt,
    There should truely be none,
    Of the horrors of little ones.

    Quite sneaky in their silence,
    They ask politely little things,
    That are actually quite nerve racking.

    They always need to be,
    Reminded to say please and thank you,
    However I would surely be glad if I just had an extra hand.

    They stare at you with unnerving eyes,
    Their silence is creepy,
    And they never complain yet you still feel inadequate.

    Paint smears and glitter sticks,
    To everything they touch especially them,
    Even though you've careful covered everything.

    They have a simple mind,
    Which leads to questions you wish to aviod,
    Especially the ones on where babies come from.

    Their jokes are the dirtiest,
    For surely they do not know of which they say,
    They just copy all that is said which scares me.

    Tiny and fagile without a single quile,
    Yet they pack quite a punch when they fight,
    And you feel quilty and cranky when one is in their company to long.

    I remember a saying,
    Parenthood is a reward,
    However they never warn you of the mess children make.

    Even the tidiest of little ones,
    Can smear glue around,
    And leave you to wonder how that string got glued to you back.

    I think parents love babysitters,
    For the simple fact,
    That the babysitter must deal with the mess for a few hours.

    Little children will eat anything,
    And run around til they fall down,
    And this is only what you see when you are looking at them.

    Although there are some who do not cry,
    There is just as many or more who do,
    And I flinch each time that screeching wail rises up.

    There is definately no doubt,
    For no matter how much you like little children,
    There is a certain horror coming with being in the company of little ones.