Your Kingdom of Crumbs

This is your kingdom—

where applesauce is currency

and glitter is law.

Where socks vanish

into portals beneath the couch,

and “no”

is both anthem

and question.

Your royal court is stuffed

with animals that don’t talk

unless I give them voices.

Your throne is a step stool.

Your crown?

Jam in your hair

and juice on your chin.

And I—

once a sovereign of to-do lists and tidy corners—

now rule beside you

in mismatched socks

and crumb-strewn dignity.

You are chaos wrapped in giggles.

You are tantrums and tickles

served on the same day,

sometimes the same minute.

You test me.

Every boundary,

every moment.

But you also teach me

how to forgive

on the spot.

How to begin again

like it’s the most natural thing

in the world.

There are days I count the hours.

And then there are days

I cry at your shadow on the wall

because you seem taller than yesterday.

Your kingdom will fall one day.

It will be replaced

by shoes that fit

and books without teeth marks.

And I’ll miss this mess—

this sticky, loud, relentless

version of you

that turned my whole world

upside down

and made it matter

more.