Madame Eulalie’s Rare Plums

[The “Lancet” says that fat babies are always unhealthy.]

O Time, our beliefs you destroy;
Our fondest illusions you shatter.
It once used to fill us with joy,
Whenever our babies grew fatter:
Our hearts, ever anxious, it cheered,
As we marked them grow daily more tubby,
And saw how their ribs disappeared,
And their cheeks became bulbous and chubby.

Those days are, alas! at an end.
No more the glad father announces
To every relation and friend,
“He’s put on a couple of ounces!”
Ah! no, as each infant we weigh,
We groan if his figure increases:
It fills us with pain and dismay—
No baby, if healthy, obese is.

In future, oh! newly-made dad,
You must strictly taboo any dish you
Consider is likely to add
To your babe’s stock of adipose tissue.
Rejoice if you find that your son’s
Inclined to be meagre and skinny;
Just think of the danger he runs,
If he needs a large waist to his pinny.

In future all infants must train,
Avoid every food in which starch is,
From sweets they must wholly refrain,
And go in for a course of route marches.
And when through its delicate skin
With glee papa marks the bones start,
May then (and then only) begin
To look on his baby as hearty.