'cause babies don't keep

I sit here at 1:09am, with 35 minutes left on the stove timer as several jars of pasta sauce finish their processing.

I started this sauce at one in the afternoon. But baby had other plans. A lot of holding. A lot of nursing. A lot of crying. A lot of many things, but not sleeping. No napping, not today. Prince Fussypants finally wore himself out at half past midnight.

My kitchen is in shambles. The laundry is overflowing. The weeds are threatening a take over. And one of my carefully packed jars of pasta sauce shattered in the canner during the first batch.

So tonight I'm taking many deep breaths. Many sips of wine. And reading, and re-reading this poem as a reminder:


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.

my oldest with my youngest. how time flies.