Wait, We’re Parents?! (Send Help)

We still eat Pop-Tarts for dinner at eight,
Forget what we’re doing mid-sentence—great.
We laugh at bad puns and send too many memes—
But now we’re expecting? This feels like a dream.

We once booked flights with no real plans,
Survived off nachos and trips to Cairns.
Our houseplants are clinging to life with despair—
And now we’ll raise a human with actual hair?!

We need an adult—a more adulty adult,
One with spreadsheets, a calendar, cultured result.
Yet here we are, reading baby name lists,
Still giggling at options like “Captain McFist.”

Will they be cool? Will they hate our old slang?
(What’s “cheugy”? Do kids still say “gang”?!)
Will they roll their eyes at our dad jokes supreme?
(They’ll have no choice. We’re living the dream.)

We’ve Googled “how baby gets swaddled so tight,”
Watched stroller reviews at three in the night.
Diaper Genies, rockers—why so much gear?!
We’re still unclear what a “bassinet” is, dear.

Will they love pizza? (They must—it’s the rule.)
Will they think that their parents are weird but still cool?
We’ll teach them to dance (badly), to sing off-key,
And how to make pancakes on Saturdays—whee!

We’re ready for giggles, for hiccups and kicks,
For bedtime stories and goofy dad tricks.
For tiny socks (oh my gosh, so small!),
For loving someone with absolutely all.

So yeah, we still feel like kids playing grown,
But this baby? They’re ours—heart, soul, and home.
They’ll learn that “adults” are just big kids, too—
Making it up, with love (and some glue).

Because if there’s one thing we definitely know:
We’ve got so much love, it’s ready to grow.
This baby’s so lucky (and so are we, too)—
We’re gonna crush this… we think. (Send a clue.)