Now I lay him down to nap
I pray that he won’t take a crap
But if he goes before he wake
I pray that he won’t make a lake.
Okay, it is not fine poetry or anything, but I have to think of something for the hours a day I spend alone, feeding/rocking/soothing him. Another mom might, say, find a way for peace in the Middle East or think of how to avoid the fiscal cliff while satisfying both Republicans and Democrats. Sadly, I am not that mom and the best I got is bad, grammatically incorrect poetry.