Our daughter
Who art in bathtub,
Glistening be thy rump.
Thy towels come
To dry thy bum,
And then it is off to bedtime.
You had, this day,
Your daily breast
And numerous spit ups
(Though we forgive you, who spits up
Against us)
And sleep is not even temptation,
But a wager made through rocking.
For thou art the tired, the hungry, and the fussy
and not yet a Toddler. Amen.
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