Being a mother is amazing- and incomparable to anything else. A window is opened to your heart and your soul is infused with sunshine. Everything good in life is amplified by being a mother. Of course, so is heartache and worry. You simply FEEL, All. THE. TIME.
It's an amazing journey. It seems only yesterday I was constantly carrying a baby on my hip, nursing and changing diapers, tucking little ones in bed, reading stories and settling disputes. Dishes and laundry were always behind, meals being prepared endlessly. There were tears to dry, noses to wipe, boo boos to kiss, soft hair to stroke, stories to hear. The busyness was real but the BEAUTY of it all-encompassing.
They don't stay, those babies and children. How many countless hours did I rock and cuddle my sweet children? How many meals did I prepare, baths did I draw, lessons did I teach, cheeks did I smooch?
Holding wriggling, towel wrapped toddlers fresh from a bath, rubbing their hair dry then folding back the towel to see shining eyes smiling at me.
Listening to their exciting stories, eyes shining, hands gesturing...me inserting helpful words when they can't get them out quickly enough and their exasperation is high. Huge grins when they know that I get them, and understand exactly what they're trying to say.
Kind, precious moments when my young children have gathered together to do something extra nice for me. Purchasing me a pretty tea towel with their own money so I can have one to hang from the bar on the kitchen stove like Mrs. So-and-so has. (Because ours were all rather shabby.)
Taking my hand and guiding me into the living room where they've prepared a mound of pillows with a hole in the center....for me to lay on face down, space for my pregnant belly in the center....for my massage. The kids going to work like a NASCAR pit crew, each taking an arm or foot or back and getting to work.
Babies Don't Keep
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.