I'M Turning Into Mother

I’m turning into mother Eyebrows, nose, and lips. Bosoms hanging, almost, to my child bearing hips. She’s grumpy and forgetful And I’m growing much the same. Tables now are turning In the parent child game. It’s me that does the cleaning, Feeds and dresses too Who always asks before we go ‘have you been to the loo’? Her childlike ways increasing throwing tantrums, snubbing food, and me left to be patient understanding, kind, and good I’m turning into mother. But the future I can see. ‘cos they tell me life’s a circle, and soon, that child will be me.