Poetry Project - Babies Don't Keep
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| William Bouguereau, Young Mother Gazing at Her Child |
Ok, this is not exactly a literary poem. This poem is stitched into a sampler that hangs on the wall in our pediatrician's office. I remember the first time I took my son to the doctor. (He was two weeks old, coming in for his first check-up.) I saw this on the wall, and I nearly burst into to tears. Now, part of that was definitely the raging post-pregnancy hormones. But part of it was that this is a very sweet little poem. So I'm putting it here, not only to share it with you, but to make sure that I keep it somewhere. So that I can remember how sweet and little my boy was the day that I nearly had a meltdown at Rankin Children's Group.
Cleaning and scrubbing can wait 'til tomorrow,
For babies grow up, we've learned to our sorrow.
So, quiet down, cobwebs.
Dust, go to sleep.
I'm rocking my baby,
And babies don't keep.
Comments
When Ace was in the NICU and I was pumping faithfully every 2-3 hours, I was STILL worried about housework. If you look at my blog during the months Ace was doing his time, I make frequent mention of what a hellhole my house is.
When I read that, I can't help but say "SHUT UP, WOMAN!"
When mom got here on Saturday afternoon, I told her I know it's messy and I don't care because our life is bigger than this house. I used to really fret about it, but not anymore. I refuse to be a slave to my own house. I don't let it get nasty, but if I don't have time/energy to clean every day, then I don't clean. It'll be there tomorrow.