Babies Don't Last Forever

Today I was reading through an archived story on the Pioneer Woman website. This is what I read:

“... Susan is the mother of eleven children, and is a complete earth mother. She had her children over a period of probably fifteen years, and speaks about her experiences so effortlessly. Sometime during the Saturday event, I found myself sitting on the couch with her and listening to her talk about her years of having babies with a house full of small children. Never once did she groan or roll her eyes or talk about how taxing, difficult, or unmanageable it was. She just smiled and stated repeatedly that it was the most precious time of her life.


A couple of times during our conversation, I dabbed small tears from the corners of my eyes. Partly because I knew exactly what she meant. Partly because I remember the feeling of having infants, toddlers, and young children in the house at the same time. Partly because I miss getting my babies out of their cribs in the middle of the night and nursing them till they fell back asleep.” Ree Drumond


Reading this brought tears to my eyes. I have to admit, I needed to “hear” this today.  My one-year-old, youngest-of-six-children baby has been sleeping fitfully all week. He is restless. He stirs. He wants to nurse… and nurse… and nurse…

My eyes are red.

I have a bad attitude.

I am sick of having sickness in my house! Not only that, but as a Martha, I hate sitting on the couch watching my house fall apart!

I needed to be reminded that, not only will this pass, but it will pass more quickly than I would like… then there will come a night when I will wish that I had a plumpy baby who needed me to snuggle and nurse in the middle of the night. And I will wish that I could have put moments like these in the freezer so that I could pull them out and experience them again.

But I can’t.

When that day comes, I will feel it poignantly – those moments are truly gone – and I will mourn for them.

I only get right now to absorb these moments.

To drink them in.

To appreciate them for what they are.

Now is my chance. Only now. - - And I have the opportunity to choose whether I will savor them, or rush through them.

Whether I will complain about how difficult they feel, or treasure them for the value that they hold.

This is my last chance, and I want to make the most of it…



Song for a Fifth Child


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.
by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton