Vintage Genie In a Bottle

Honeymoon glamour faded with champagne bubbles and curly locks of cigar smoke. Newlywed escapades replaced by newborn demands but daily celebrations still tickle my bottle. Champagne adventures traded for vintage wine, tradition infused with grains of patient time more precious by the month, the year, the generation. It's an honor to wear silver ribbons of concern even when the grapes are sour; when the chores pile up and making the most of it still isn't enough. Each task, each moment, each worry is an investment made in tomorrow's tomorrow. But, ah, even generic wine is sweeter after a bottle of pucker has passed. There is no price tag on my services, no better offer I'd ever consider because the compensation for myriads of hours is watching lives pour from my bottle in all varieties of flavor but with the ability to savor the champagne, smile even when life is too tart, and crawl if they're knocked off their feet. I pray never to see the end, never to see the final results of my life's work. It's my job to just be a part of the magic and hope they'll remember the Genie in a bottle whose one wish was to grant and deny their wishes with the vested love of a mother.