Hush Now

There are always a million different things to do.

There are always dishes to be done, laundry to be folded, toys to be put away, emails to respond to, floors to sweep and fights to be refereed.

Having two small boys at home and one nursing baby girl, my days are broken into feedings. Nursing for Macy and breakfast, lunch, dinner for the boys and the 900 requests for snacks. (890 of those request come 2.5 seconds after I have started nursing their sister.)

So my "free" time to actually clean my house is limited.

I tend to rush to and fro, trying to tidy up something, do some chore before I am called away.

Rushing, rushing, rushing.

Now that Macy is 4 months old and on a pretty set eating schedule, I want to get her on a good nap schedule. She usually disagrees with me.

She sleeps great at night, but is the queen of the quick power naps during the day.

So, I am trying to get her used to napping in her crib and not on me.

I have started swaddling her, like when she goes down for the night, and rocking her to sleep. It is just me and her, in her tiny little room, rocking back and forth, lulling us both half-asleep.

Normally, I am patting her back, hurrying up that sleep, because I need to do something...
Pat, pat, sleep, sleep, baby. Sleep, sleep.

But than one day, I stopped patting and cuddled her in close, laid my cheek on her sweet, soft cheek and savored her. Her little baby breath on my shoulder, her warm body, her baby smell.

And I told myself to just calm it down.

I will always have dishes or laundry or dinner to make.

But I won't have a sweet baby that I get the privilege of rocking to sleep during the day.

I have two other babies in the other room that are playing (not so) quietly that don't need me to rock them to sleep.

So, for now, I am going to try to remind myself to stop and savor my girl.

Because babies don't keep.


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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.

Song for a Fifth Child

 by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton