Monday, November 9, 2015

Babies Don't Keep

I was in the middle of preparing dinner. The oven was preheating, food processor whirring, and skillet sizzling when I heard the disturbance. My little Munchkin had been peacefully napping...until he woke up screaming. This wasn't the usual "I'm awake, come get me!" cry/scream that I hear when he's ready to be rescued from the crib. No, this was the blood-curdling, "something must be wrong" scream of a hurt or frightened little one. I made sure my burners were off before swooping in and scooping him up in my arms. He snuggled in and held on tight as his cries subsided. He was still tense but as I held him and rocked him, his breathing slowed and he relaxed.

We stayed like that for a long time. His arms stayed firmly around my neck as I snuggled him and rocked in the glider. I thanked God in those moments that I hadn't made it any further in preparing dinner as I didn't want an oven timer to interrupt this quiet moment. He's bigger than he used to be and I realize he won't always want to snuggle. Even now, he can get wrapped up in playing and will try to squirm away if I scoop him up for a hug when he wants to be down and on the move. So I cherished this time of comforting my boy and providing the safety he needed to snuggle and relax while he slowly awoke from his nap. The last line from this poem kept running through my head as I sat there. Dinner could be late and playing could wait, but rocking my baby right then was the most important thing in the world.

 "Babies Don’t Keep"

Author: Ruth Hulburt Hamilton
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,
Lullabye, rockabye, lullabye 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?
Lullabye, rockaby lullabye 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.

Soli Deo Gloria,