Of Soaking it In

I realized today that at least once a week my son falls asleep in the arms of a nursery worker at church.  My daughter did the same.  The amount of times I've allowed them to fall asleep in my arms other than the natural effect of nursing can be counted on one hand. 

I've always been so focused on scheduling and not permitting myself to be a sleep aid so my children will fall asleep on their own without needing momma in the room or being held in the rocking chair that they never sleep anywhere but their cribs when we're at home.  Truly, I am thankful that my children sleep well and that I can put them in their beds and know they'll fall asleep swiftly and stay in that state for a solid amount of time.  But at the same time, I almost want to cry when I realize how often I've denied myself a privilege that so many others are allowed to enjoy weekly and, even more so, that I only just today noticed.
 
Thus, today, while Micaiah napped in her room and Daddy in his, I lay on the couch, Emmett on my chest, stroking his fuzzy head, wiggling ever so slightly to give him the rocking motion that's always sure to put him to sleep (it works in the car!), the soft sounds of Christmas music streaming from the laptop and we both went to sleep.  And it was blissful.  And in the time that he took to settle down I mourned for the days I allowed to slip by when he was so tiny all he wanted to do was sleep on my chest and all I did was lay him on his tummy on the couch while I washed dishes, folded clothes, cooked dinner or checked e-mail. 

I pray I will not forget this feeling and I will allow myself many more of these priceless moments for any children to come in the future.

It's days like today when I pray the thoughts of this poem would be my mantra:

Babies Don’t Keep
by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton

Mother, O Mother, come shake out your cloth,
Empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
Hang out the washing, make up the bed,
Sew on a button and butter the bread.

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,
Lullabye, rockabye, lullabye 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 his eyes the most wonderful hue?
Lullabye, rockaby lullabye loo.

The cleaning and scrubbing can 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 and babies don’t keep.