Babies Don't Keep

Lately, Mark has been kind enough to handle Henry's middle-of-the-night feeding by giving him a bottle and letting me sleep.  Last night, though, I decided to feed him when he woke up at 4:15.  We had left Henry with a non-family babysitter for the first time that evening (in fact, with our nanny, but I'll save the back-to-work story for another day), and I wanted some extra snuggles.

After he was fed and changed, we sat in the rocker together for quite some time, nestled close.  At one point, I looked down at Henry and he was staring at me intently, with his mouth slightly open, as if to say, "Hi, Mama.  I feel so safe, cozy and loved right now."  So, I told him I loved him, too, so much.

As we were rocking, I couldn't help but think of the famous poem:

Mother, O' Mother, come shake out your cloth,

Empty the dustpan, poison the moth.

Hang out the washing, make up the bed,

Sew on a button and butter the bread.

 

Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?

She's up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I've grown as 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 his eyes the most wonderful hue?

Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo.

 

 

The cleaning and scrubbing can wait till tomorrow,

But 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.

~ Ruth Hulbert Hamilton