Prince George hits three years old on 22 July. As my daughter (NG) has just turned three too, and I rather enjoyed doing this for Mother’s Day, I thought I’d give Georgie his own birthday poem. Happy Birthday for Friday, PG. May the threenage stage be kind to your family.
A Birthday Poem for A Threenage Prince George
Little Prince George is a bouncy young lad
His eyes are all wide and his hair isn’t bad
He lives with his parents who like him, aged two
All, ‘isn’t he sweet?’ and, ‘yay! Nice big poo!’
And, ‘George! There’s a man here for tea called Obama.
Bedtime can wait. Come and pose in pyjamas.’
Yes, George is a good boy. It’s true all the madness
Of being a prince had provoked signs of ‘ladness’
But not for too long, because Nag-Nag has said
If he doesn’t improve then the crown for his head
Will be given to Charlotte. (And that’s all it took.
George wanted to rule. So he chose a good book
And decided to try to behave). Early years
Passed serenely with no tantrums or screaming or tears
But the small future Highness just didn’t forsee
The emotional ride that would come, turning three.
He opens his eyes. It is odd. He feels strange.
Overnight, his delight at CBeebies has changed.
He looks at the wall stickers, then starts to frown.
“Igglepiggle?!” he whispers, then tears them all down.
He runs to the kitchen. A wonderful spread
Is laid out on the table: Frubes and chocolate bread.
So much care and attention has clearly been given
To George’s third birthday. Rage surges … he’s driven.
“Nursery food??!” he storms. “Ugh. I feel sick!”
And he lunges at Will’s plate so Eggs Benedict
And thick Hollandaise sauce – William’s favourite – go flying.
(Lupo is happy but Charlotte starts crying).
“Oh, Georgie,” says Kate, looking on, quite dismayed
At the naughty behaviour her son has displayed.
“Where are your good manners?” She pats her left knee.
“Now, come and sit here. What’s it like being three?”
George wriggles away. He’s remembered, the rascal
That outside a seriously big bouncy castle
On loan from his GREAT Uncle Harry stands proudly
“It’s raining outside!” yells Maria, quite loudly
“I don’t care!” shouts Prince George, who has grabbed an umbrella
And Charlotte’s best blanket. “You don’t have to tell her,”
He adds to his nanny. “Just use one of Lupe’s.”
“Don’t be absurd,” snaps Will. “What if she poops?”
Kate inwardly sighs. Not only does she
Have to cope with the fallout of George being three
She’s remembered that Lupo’s got sensitive skin
And a date at the vet. Will will have to take him.
He is hangry and seems in a terrible mood.
“You handle Lupo,” she says. “Have some food.”
(Will probably is better off at the vet
Attending to his very favourite pet).
Kate takes a deep breath, hoists up Shouty and pauses.
What sights would she find when she braved out of doors-es?
Her terribly cuddly toddler has turned
Into something quite terrifying. But she’s learned
She takes a few steps and listens with care
There’s a faint, bounce, bounce, bounce. “Charlotte, look! Over there!”
Kate strides down the path that leads straight to the shed
(Where Harry keeps things like a spare King size bed)
And inside, she spies her small son having fun
With a spray can. Green neon. “Arrgh, what have you done!?”
Wails the Duchess. “Oh, Georgie you’d better come out.
If your Dad sees this mess he’ll go crazy. No doubt
Harry told you it’s ok to act stupidly?
Oh, why don’t you listen at Montessori
When they say if you’re desperate to know how to rule
It all starts with rewards for good learning at school.
“Mummy, chill. Harry isn’t,” soothes George, “one to blame.
“He’s at home with that Doctor Who girl, watching Game
of Thrones. “I’m just pretending that this is my crib.
I do have permission, you know.”
“George! Don’t fib! Kate is trying her best to keep cool but it’s fair
That despite being the birthday boy, her lovely heir
Is just being a right royal pain in the neck.
(Well, she is due a trim). The door clicks. “What the heck ..?”
The Queen stares at the walls George has painted bright green
And the bedsheets as well. “I can probably clean …”
Kate begins, quite forlornly, to offer a reason
For George’s behaviour. “I’ll put some Febreze on.”
“Don’t worry,” says Gan Gan. Her voice has no malice.
“I asked George to show what he’d do with the Palace
If given free reign. And I think he has done
The most wonderful job. Be proud of your son.”
Then she goes and the Duchess sits down on a chair.
George looks proud. Charlotte sucks Kate’s immaculate hair.
“That’s very surprising,” she says, finally.
“She likes neon,” shrugs George. “And because she’s ninety
She’s decided that life is too short to be strict.”
Kate thoughtfully twirls on the locks Charlotte’s licked.
“Alright then,” she says. “Now that you’re a threenager
You can tidy this up if you like. NOT Maria.”
George stares at her. Then, with a burst of affection
Puts down the spray can, charges in her direction.
“Oh Mummy, you’re magic” He says with a grin.
“I know,” Catherine smiles. “That can goes in the bin.”
So that is the story of George turning three.
(Thank you for reading and indulging me).
A big happy birthday to you, Kate will sing
And hope there’s no tantrums from our future king.
It’s time for the Mumsnet Blog Award nominations! And, erm, if you like Right Royal Mother, I would love a nomination for Best Writer or Comedic Writer. Thank you thank you. Polly x