Babies Don't Keep

"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."

I love this poem.  My sister just posted it on her blog.  The words echoed through my mind the other day when I had a unique quiet moment with Nathan.  Jacob was at school, Sarah was playing at a friend's house and Jonah was asleep.  I thought of the piles of bills waiting to be paid on my counter, the piles of dirty dishes in the sink, the piles of laundry upstairs in my room waiting to be folded, and the piles of dust on every surface and in every corner I glanced at.  Instead of tackling those chores, I looked at my darling baby, held him in my arms, kissed his soft cheeks, smelled his sweet breath, basked in the twinkle of his big, brown eyes, enjoyed every ticklish giggle, loved every slobbery, wet kiss he gave me, laughed at his toothy grin, and marveled at his strength as he grabbed my fingers with his chubby little fist.  I kept wanting to take pictures in my mind so that when he's older and pushing my buttons I'll remember that precious moment.  Because just like the poem says those chores will always be there waiting for me but for right now "I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep."