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 his 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

 this poem kept going through my mind last night, as i chose to sleep in bed with my little, until he was in a deep enough sleep that i could slip out and go to my own.

and again today, as i spent 1.5 hours reading to him, book after book after book. and i didn't care.

i don't get him like this forever. 

he's going to grow older. and i want him to remember the good times.

so i've decided. 

my house can be clean...later. 

my hair can be done up...later. 

dishes can be done...later. 

work can be done...later.

i can be found rocking my baby.

for babies don't keep.