Babies don't keep

My mother-in-law sent me this poem yesterday.  I'd never seen it in its complete form before, nor did I know anything about the author until I did some investigating today.  This poem seems so special to me now that I've read the whole thing and the title and that the baby in this poem is a girl and I'm having a girl.  Yes, preggo lady burst out crying.  

Time flies by, though, and though I marvel at seeing all my kids' personalities and stages and phases, that baby period (the time when you are exhausted and have cleaned a million blowouts and are just getting to know this little being) is equivalent to the blink of an eye.  And maybe because you are so tired, you just don't fully embrace each little moment.  I will say I was much better at it with my last little guy.  Just taking it easy and enjoying things BUT I always knew, even if Hubby did not, that another one would be along.  This time, I don't know.  This could be my last little one, and it breaks my heart (feels a relief in many ways), but I just don't even want to think about being done with babies and wonderful squirmy wiggles in my belly forever.  If Little Miss Baby is my grand finale, I want to soak it all in and take a million pictures. 

 Anyway, so, you can imagine with all these thoughts flying around and with me being so excited to meet my fifth child and with her being a surprise (which has been very different for our marriage, etc., than all the not so surprising arrivals), and with me being a fifth child surprise for my mom...well, let's just say lots of emotions.  

Mark my word, though, I will make all the time count, even as I juggle the many demands on my time, because babies DO NOT keep!

Song for a Fifth Child

by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton (1921- )

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 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 her eyes the most wonderful hue?
(Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo.)

Oh, cleaning and scrubbing will 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. Babies don't keep.