Triplet Mom

There's three to wash, three to dry.
There's three who argue and three who cry.
One's in the mud having a ball,
One stands on the chair, waiting to fall.
The other holds a crayon, marking a wall.
Some days seem endless, my patience grows thin.
Why was I chosen to be a mother of triplets?
The answer comes clear at the end of the day,
As I tuck them in bed, and to myself I say
There's three to kiss and three to hug:
And best of all, three to love!