Babies don't keep

Yesterday, after a long morning at physical therapy, we finally made it home to our warm house. Ms. Gina, the therapist really worked Abigail with stretches and new positions and I'm happy to say that Abby can now turn her head 90 degrees - full range of motion! She was great for the first 30 minutes of the session, which was mostly play, but when it came to stretching she started to cry the fattest baby tears you've ever seen. Gina wasn't bothered by it - I guess she's used to working with itty-bitties. I, on the other hand, felt like I wanted to cry too. I read somewhere that babies have their own cry frequency that is exactly the right frequency to make their mother feel incredibly uncomfortable/stressed out. It's supposed to guarantee the fact that momma will come running to the rescue, even when no one else will. Abby is such a happy baby, though. Even through her tears of frustration with the stretching, she would look up at Gina and give her a big gummy grin!

After we arrived home, I planned to give Abby a bottle, then get some serious house cleaning done. Since we spent most of Monday out and about in Kennesaw, our laundry and dishes had piled up in a major way. But as soon as her bottle was finished, Abby was fast asleep snoozing in my arms. I glanced around the house at all the things I had to do...then glanced down at her little chubby baby-cheeks (which probably weigh at least a pound each - oh- mah-goodness, I die of cute!) and decided cleaning can wait.

One day Abby will not want to fall asleep on momma anymore. One day she'll be too big to rock, and she'll want to go play with the "big kids". And I'll wonder where my little baby GB went. And I'll miss her little sleepy baby cheeks on my chest.

So I held my sleeping baby on the couch...for three hours straight :)


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, rock-a-bye, Lullaby loo).
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
(pat-a-cake, darling, and peek-peek-a-boo).
The shopping is not done and there's nothing for stew
And out in the yard there is a hullabaloo.
But I'm playing "Kanga" and this is my "Roo."
Look! Aren't his eyes the most wonderful hue?
(lullaby, rock-a-bye, 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.

Ruth Hulburt Hamilton, 1958