Sniff...Sniff...

I just came down from rocking Noelle and putting her to bed and my thoughts wandered to this poem...

Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth, empty the dust pan, 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, peek-a-boo).

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.

This is true, babies don't keep. When the clock strikes 2:28 am, Noelle will be two years old. I can scarcely believe how the time has gone. What used to be my precious little bumble who wanted nothing more than to nurse and snuggle, now just wants to run and jump and get into all kinds of trouble. Despite all of the work I thank the Lord for sending me this precious angel.