Who Taught Him That?

A ball, a sock, a crawl, a walk
‘Twixt cupboard wares and open stairs

The baby’s on the move.

A lid, a crumb, once-diapered bum
Beneath the chairs; where’er he dares

The baby’s on the move.

A scarf, a boot, a laugh, a scoot
From houseplant fares to mother’s hairs

Why taught we him to move?

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

©2020 Chel Owens

Breaks, Momming, Blogging

Ironically, I didn’t go so far between posting back when I was far busier. The problem is that, last year, I made a goal that never saw fruition: to be nominated for my friends’ Blogger’s Bash. So, I wrote every day. I posted tips, quotes, advice, etc.

And, I spent the sleepless days and nights in nauseated discomfort from being pregnant.

Still, the blog looked good. And, on the plus side, I was able to proudly display my every-day-writingness for things like applying for a writing job (that fell through), and applying for more recent jobs (those also fell through).

What does that leave me with?

A baby -well, nearly a toddler. Today, as I put clothes into my dresser that he pulled out again, I realized where daily-bloggingness had gone: right where all the socks and underpants were now going. Even while I was pregnant and busy, my children were older. When they slept, they slept (mostly). When I wanted a break, I could do things like send them outside or put on a Minecraft video.

So, I’m not sure where this mom blog will go. Perhaps, like with the children, it will see occasional nourishment and care*. Perhaps I’ll try scheduling poems again. Or, perhaps I’ll pop in now and then to feel guilty that, again like with the children, I’m just not telling the blog I love it enough*.

For those loyal, wonderful, amazing, beautiful, handsome, intelligent people still following, thank you. You are all of the previously-listed attributes and more.

Photo by Anastasia Shuraeva on Pexels.com

©2020 Chel Owens

*Still joking.

Oh, Baby

The baby is crying

He’s cooing

She’s whining

We’re holding

Oh, baby.


©2020 Chelsea Owens

Photo Credit: Kristina Paparo

Unintentional One-Armed Typing

I’m typing with one hand,
With one arm,
And half a brain.

I don’t know which half-brain,
I know which one arm;
Which one hand.

I’m typing, with one arm,
And one hand
(And some brain).

I’m holding, with one arm,
And one hand
And my heart.

I’m typing, holding, living
With what I’m able to;
I’m thinking, trying, loving
Giving all of me to you.


©2020 Chelsea Owens, including photo

Time for Baby

I don’t know why
I thought to sleep

I don’t know why
I thought to sweep

I am not sure
When I will eat

I am not sure
When I will pee

I can’t think when
A movie I’ll see

I can’t think when
I’ll put up my feet

I forgot how
Much that he needs

I forgot how
To have a baby.


Photo Credit: Raul Angel

©2020 Chelsea Owens