Farewell, poor carseat, I knew you so well.
I must throw you away; you’re too mouldy to sell.
No more baby-sick shall I scrape from your folds,
Nor chewed and dried ricecake pick from your straps.
The dummies sought blindly now binned, just one kept,
The mustard poo seepage now wiped from the gaps.
No more shall you rest by coffee shop tables,
Small anchors around us new mums all at sea.
Never again sit by my terrified feet
As I wait for our call in deep-night A&E.
No more shall I warm you with a hot water bottle,
Nor dress you in blankets, line you with care.
No toys will now dangle from your hard-to-tilt handle
That left welts on my arm, caused my shoulder to tear.
No more shall I cover you with a scarf and a prayer
That your sleep will last longer so we can stay there,
No more shall I hover above you, not breathing,
Hoping he’ll stay sleeping if I take him upstairs.
No more squeezy pouches will spurt in your strap-holes,
Nor raisins collect in your every crease.
No more will your sidewings be warmed by a baby,
As you hold his head while he blissfully sleeps.
With a kiss I now leave you
Abandoned to gather
The three lives you cradled
In the arms of their mother.
