Song for a Fifth Child by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton (1921- )
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 as 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.)
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 hold Mitch, and nurse him, and forget about everything else. I let my other boys slightly destroy the house, piece by piece. I don't even want to mention our current laundry situation. Matt does the dishes every night because I can't possibly spare a moment to do them throughout the day. I am only 2 pounds away from pre-baby weight because eating even takes a backseat to my newborn admiring, loving, kissing, obsessing time. I'm annoyed he is not awake more so I can gaze into his beautiful eyes. I am stressed I haven't photographed him enough, he changes every day, every hour, and I don't want to forget, or miss a moment.