Early this morning as my precious little one awoke to nurse again, I cradled him in my arms and pondered the wonderful miracle that he is. He is so near and dear to me and truly a blessing in my life. Though Peter’s birth was long and hard for me, I now look back on it with fond memories and excitement for the next one. I love to stroke his oh so soft head and take in his sweet newborn scent. I play with his tiny hands and feet as he slumbers in my arms or at my breast. He’s dependent on me for everything he needs to live and be happy. He’ll be grown up so soon that I just soak up his angel dust and love it while it lasts. Then, I’ll love his first steps, first word, first book he read by himself, first best friend, first bike ride, first invention, first speech, first date…
Earlier today I came across this page. She made me think about some of the ways I cherish my little ones. I know baby Peter isn’t my last baby, and frankly I’m not sure if the next one will be either. What I do know, is that I will welcome the babies that come to our family with much love and care. Heavenly Father has entrusted my husband and I to take care of His precious children and to teach them about who they are and why they are here on earth. It is a great (and at times, overwhelming) responsibility, but with His help we’ll bring His children home to Him again when their time on earth is through.
Babies Don’t Keep
By Ruth Hulbert 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
Lullabye, rockaby, lullabye loo
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
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.