Spoken by Irene:

What are babies, they are gourmets
Sampling everything that is in sight
Little hands always messy and sticky
Whilst their faces a picture of delight

Only babies plug the telephone with cereal
Then set out to try and strangle your cat
Their knees seemingly hiding minute motors
Whilst retaining all their chubby baby fat

A baby has the manners of a warthog
And not ashamed if it makes a burp or two
Plunging grubby little fists into its dinner
Whilst missing your outstretched spoon

What is a baby? Well it's your treasure
And you wouldn't change a hair on its head
Pacing the floor in the wee small hours
Then you drag yourself back to your bed