I have a mummy blogger, she takes good care of me,
But now there is an iPhone where her face should be,
All day and all night she's tap-tap-tapping
We go to the park and she sits on the side,
And tells me to go, on my own, down the slide.
She says she's promoting "autonomous play",
But I know she's tweeting, it's FollowFriday.
If I fall in to a big muddy puddle,
She'll take a quick pic before giving a cuddle.
The photos she takes of me riding a bike,
Aren't for mementos, but Instagram likes.
I could be dangling from gym apparatus,
She'd still find the time to update her status.
After taking our one millionth selfie,
I'm starting to think all this blogging's not healthy.
She's quite keen on making me do crafts and art,
But she changes my clothes before we start.
The crafts look too pretty, she mutters "so pinnable",
So I run off to play with the loo brush on principle.
On Saturday night she goes into a panic,
Makes me a bento box, something organic.
"Eat this and pretend that it's been a fun day,
I need a good photo for Silent Sunday!"
There's nothing I do that she won't blog about,
I could poo on the floor, stamp, scream and shout.
I picked up and tipped out a whole box of cereal,
She just smiled and muttered "great blog material"!
At the end of each day she cuddles me tight,
And kisses my head says "I love you, good night"
I know that she's not thinking "aww how sweet",
But what she can say in her next funny tweet.