I spend so much of my time breastfeeding these days… like hours and hours of my days. And being a goal-oriented person, I spend a lot of those hours contemplating the other things I need to be doing. For example: picking up the house, cleaning bathrooms, mopping that dusty floor, working on house projects and decorating, TAKING A SHOWER, journaling fleeting precious moments that make me think “I want to remember that forever!”, doing dinner prep, running errands, etc. I could go on. However, I know that there is a time and a season for all things, and I need to just be content with NOT tackling that to-do list because there will be plenty of time for that for the rest of my life. Have you read this poem? Cue the mommy tears..
The Last Time
From the moment you hold your baby in your arms,
you will never be the same.
You might long for the person you were before,
When you had freedom and time,
And nothing in particular to worry about.
You will know tiredness like you never knew it before,
And days will run into days that are exactly the same,
Full of feeding and burping,
Whining and fighting,
Naps, or lack of naps. It might seem like a never-ending cycle.
But don’t forget…
There is a last time for everything.
There will come a time when you will feed your baby
for the very last time.
They will fall asleep on you after a long day
And it will be the last time you ever hold your sleeping child.
One day you will carry them on your hip,
then set them down,
And never pick them up that way again.
You will scrub their hair in the bath one night
And from that day on they will want to bathe alone.
They will hold your hand to cross the road,
The never reach for it again.
They will creep into your room at midnight for cuddles,
And it will be the last night you ever wake for this.
One afternoon you will sing ‘the wheels on the bus and do all the actions,
Then you’ll never sing that song again.
They will kiss you goodbye at the school gate,
the next day they will ask to walk to the gate alone.
You will read a final bedtime story and wipe your
last dirty face.
They will one day run to you with arms raised,
for the very last time.
The thing is, you won’t even know it’s the last time
until there are no more times, and even then,
it will take you a while to realise.
So while you are living in these times,
remember there are only so many of them and when they are gone,
you will yearn for just one more day of them
For one last time.
Whew! It’s a doozy, right? All of these mundane mommy tasks become so special when you realize how fleeting they are. I also LOVE this painting by Lauri Blank called Sunday Morning.
I love everything about it from the butterflies flitting about, down to the explosion on the newspaper below. It depicts so much of what I feel. I’d love to have a print of it, but I can only find it in very large sizes. Any suggestions on smaller options… anyone?
In the first few weeks with Berrett, I kept saying to Raimo that “babies don’t keep”… And he hadn’t heard this little rhyme:
Song for a Fifth Child
By Ruth Hulburt Hamilton
Oh, cleaning and scrubbing will 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. Babies don’t keep.
I’m already mourning the passing stages as Berrett slowly grows and changes from week to week. We look back at those photos of his first days of life and we can’t believe how tiny his head was (well it’s still pretty tiny now… But it’s changed!)
Berrett is 6 weeks old today, just a week older than Finn was when I wrote this post about those precious early weeks.
And this post a few weeks later.
I always write love letters to my babies. I enjoy going back to those posts so much! Such precious memories! I have also sung love songs to all my babies. For Rose I always sang Till There Was You… The song just fit how I felt with her. The world was not so bright till she was in it. For Finn I sang Bill (changed the name to Finn… “His form and face, his manly grace are not the kind you would find in a statue… And I can’t explain. It’s surely not his brain that makes me thrill. I love him because he’s wonderful. Because he’s just my Finn”) Love songs just make sense- it gives new meaning to the lyrics. For Berrett, I like singing…
life was a song, you came along. I’ve been awake the whole night through. Did I ever dare to think you’d care? This is what I sing to you. You were meant for me. I was meant for you. And I’m content the Angels must have sent you. And they meant you just for me.
And then we start dancing around a ladder. Perfect right? So many romantic songs are like that- they go right with my baby.