I am not "maternal" by nature or by nurture. Over the last four years, though, I have settled down and settled in and allowed my heart to wander where it belongs, to fall in love with my children. Thank God for the love of mother and child. We put in more than we think we can, and we get out more than we dreamed we could.My baby Angelina is 15.5 months old. She is starting to walk. She has humored me by being a late walker, a late weaner, a late talker. She still responded primarily to the name "Baby" until recently. She has been so sweet and lovely. I wanted her to stay a baby forever, and she tried to. But toddlerhood is upon us.
For my fellow fast-paced workhorses, I thought I'd share this simple poem I recently read, not to guilt us into slowing down, but to fan the sweet fragrance of mother-baby love...
Cooking and cleaning can wait til tomorrow,
For babies grow up, we've learned to our sorrow;
So quiet down cobwebs, and dust go to sleep,
I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep.
Indeed, babies don't keep. I'm off to rock mine while I finish today's prayers. Sigh.
