Meal Time Blues

Meal Time Blues

My niece is the cutest little dumpling
and I didn't have much else to do
So I took the cuddly doll on my lap
& volunteered to feed her her daily goo

What seemed an easy enough route
to her mouth, with the spoon,
somehow turned into a complex maze
of tiny hands, legs & frock, pretty soon

Not relishing her pasty food,
the naughty little bundle of joy,
elected to chew the spoon instead
or my hands, her toes or any old toy

Both my hands were tied up
wielding the spoon and holding the cup
while her entire 22 inches were free
to energetically protest that she didn't wanna sup

More hands were needed to hold her head
and prevent the glop from flowing out
And to restrain her legs from kicking
the bowl with all the contents out

She twisted, turned, wriggled and struggled
and showed what she thought of her food
Though doctors may say it is perfect for her
to her what tasted thus was just no good

Soon, the battle was in full swing
and just when I thought I may win the fray
her cute rosebud lips learnt
to spew out a sticky spray

She'd rather stuff her mouth with her frock
compared to the yuck she was fed
She had made up her mind decidedly
and just couldn't be coaxed, cajoled or led

At the end of the grueling hour
there was baby food everywhere
Quite probably on the ceiling too
while much was hardening in our hair

Seeing the scene of havoc & din
I wondered how much really went in
Her mother said, far from gaily
that she fought this battle alone, daily

Either the baby food cartel has to clean up its act
noting their customers protests and fuss
or God has to make it a fairer fight
by giving mothers eight hands like the octopus

~ Shanta ~

More Poems By Shanta

Kavitanjali