The baby is so little and snuggly sweet.
She wants to be held every hour, every minute.
What would I do with one day to myself?
Would I take a shower and dry my hair; iron my clothes and put make-up on my face?

The toddler is so busy; she’s running and climbing.
Crash! I’m off and running again.
What would I do with one day to myself?
Would I pick up the toys and change the sheets on the beds?

The four-year old is singing another song she made-up;
Dancing a dance with wiggles and such.
“Mommy, please come you gotta see this!”
What would I do with one day to myself?
Would I sit and watch Oprah and eat peanut butter cups?

The five-year old is painting a picture for me.
There is paint on the floor, on the cupboards and in the sink; handprints on the walls. What would I do with one day to myself?
Would I clean up this mess and make my own craft?

The six-year old is reading and calling my name.
“Mommy, please come help me with this!”
What would I do with one day to myself?
Would I pick up a novel and read all by myself?

The seven-year old is going to sleep.
“Mommy, please rub my back and sing me to sleep.”
What would I do with one day to myself?
Would I listen to music and catch up on my shows?

What would I do? I would dream a dream of a little girl to hold, to chase, to sing with, to paint with, to read with, and to tell her sweet dreams each night. That’s what I’d do.