If Molly was asked to write a poem about this night, this is what the lyrics would probably be:
One, two, three, four – throw your dummy on the floor,
Five, six, seven, eight – mama, pick it up again!
Nine, eight, seven, six – can I have some nice warm milk?
Five, four, three, two – I was just messing with you.
But this bottle I will keep,
Cause there’s no way I’ll go to sleep!
Maybe I will cry a bit?
Or throw a proper screaming fit?
We’ll find out what the night will bring…
You’re my bitch and I’m the king.
Two, three, four, five – just checking if you’re still alive.