Today she didn’t feel so blessed.
She was tired, angry, helpless, stressed.
It’s hard to feel blessed on four hours sleep,
Her girl would laugh, she would weep.
Waking at three, in and out of bed,
Up and down the stairs, she felt dead.
Chips, ice cream, spoons and spills,
Noodles, butter, kosher dills.
Stains on the carpet, juice on the floor,
Her daughter awake, she could take no more.
The bags under her eyes grew each night,
No makeup could hide it in the light.
She stared at her girl, looked for blame,
Where she went wrong, who had her name.
What she did for a life this rough,
She was so fed up, so past enough.
On her hands and knees, as her girl laughed,
In her head she wrote her epitaph.
Here lies a woman who dared to dream,
Who worked so hard and ran out of steam.
So much on her plate, more than her share,
She did her best, it wasn’t fair.
Most days she juggled too much in the air,
Attempted to do it with grace and with care.
She put on a good show, said she was all right,
Then she went home to another sleepless night.
There were endless days that passed her by,
Her patience would wither, her smile would die.
She looked everywhere for Plan B, Plan C,
Plan A was all she got, and so it must be.
She sent her daughter to school, wiped her tears away,
Went off to her job, went on with her day.
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