A Poem

There has been a poem that has come up at least 3 times in the last week. It has made me think about how I view the most precious times with my children. Let me explain...
Caroline is now 2yrs and 3mos old, and she STILL requests to be rocked at naptime and bedtime. While there are days that it drives me crazy, there are other days that I wouldn't give it up for anything. She is definitely her Daddy's girl, for I have heard that he was a die-hard rocker too. :)
Here's the poem:

Song for a Fifth Child

Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth

empty the dustpan, poison the moth,

hang out the washing and butter the bread,

sew on a button and make up a bed.

Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?

She's up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I've grown shiftless as Little Boy Blue

(lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).

Dishes are waiting and bills are past due

(pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo).

The shopping's not done and there's nothing for stew

and out in the yard there's a hullabaloo

but I'm playing Kanga and this is my Roo.

Look! Aren't her eyes the most wonderful hue?

(lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).

The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,

for children grow up, as I've learned to my sorrow.

So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.

I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep.

by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton

I love to, just for a moment, pretend there is nothing else that needs to be done around here. There is no laundry calling my name, no puppies that need attention (or potty breaks), no worries, and no stresses of life. When it's just me and my babies--whether it be rocking Caroline to sleep, reading a book to Caitlin, or snuggling with Christian--that's the most precious time of my day.

Life can wait---babies don't keep.