Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby, loo. The moment I will have forever.

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.

Daisy is now asleep. The house is quiet. Henry and his cousin are playing happily in the back yard. I asked them if perhaps they would like to paint with me. But I got 'the look' from both of them.

"We're busy. I'm just digging this little hole."
"And I'm driving in it."

They immediately returned to their game. Denied.

Oh, how things have changed! Only a few short years ago it would have been Henry, not Daisy, held close in the rocking chair. The boy who once loved to fall asleep snuggled in beside me is far too busy for even so much as a hug these days.

Today Daisy has a bit of a cold and Craig is in bed after night shift. His snoring woke her after she had been asleep for five minutes. Thinking back 10 years, I realise had this happened with Jack, I would have freaked out. Actually I would have burst into tears. The WORK I put into trying to get him to sleep was overwhelming. It was my whole world for a while there. Everything else became secondary. And I never once considered he was amongst the small percentage of little ones who just didn't need as much sleep as the others. That and he had undiagnosed reflux until we had Izzy and noticed it. I never considered that the one book I read, that promised to make him sleep, may not have been a good fit for him. Or me.

Since then I have grown and changed as much as my little ones. I have learnt what works for me, works for me and that has nothing to do with anyone else. I have learnt so much from other mothers. I have come to love the saying 'be like a wise old cow, take in all the straw and spit out the sticks.' I have discovered that there is always something to take away from listening. Even if all it is, is being happy for the other person, while silently knowing what I have been told is not right for me. I have also learnt from my children. They have always been different from each other and have helped me see that all mothers are different too, including me. Now I know all the 'different' is the challenge I needed, and continue to need, to see the world open up with infinite possibilities.

As I heard Daisy start to talk five minutes after falling asleep I realised just how much I have changed. As I walked towards my bedroom door, I was happy. I smiled as I opened the door and said "is daddy keeping you awake?" Her cute cheeky grin in reply made my smile grow wider. I rolled Craig onto his side to stop him snoring and walked back to my little one, now standing in her cot. Her gorgeous big eyes so obviously still tired.

I gathered her up in my arms and kissed her until she giggled, holding her close, as her baby scented head moved to rest on my shoulder. I grabbed her faded, pink blanket and made my way to the now time-worn rocking chair.

Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She's up in the nursery, blissfully rocking!

As I sat down and relaxed into the chair, Daisy snuggled into the crook of my arm, a place she has been many times before, and looked up at me. Time could stand still in that moment forever. She blinked, almost turned away, but looked back again to check I was still there. She wriggled around snuggling in under her blanket, her tiny hand tapping lightly on my collar bone, as she closed her eyes, ready for sleep once again.

I rocked slowly. Moments passed. Her breathing steadied. Minutes blended together as her hand dropped and her eyelashes, never completely touching her cheek, fluttered. Now completely asleep, I could sit and stare at her. Completely beautiful and content. I sat wondering who she would become one day. I sat hoping that time could slow down and I could keep her little for just a bit longer, while knowing that time would always move on, and all I could do was value each precious moment I've been given. I sat more determined yet again to make the most of it all.

One day the shaky lip will disappear for good. A certain little boy will stop being excited when he finds the train with his name on it. And that all consuming you-are-my-world look that I see in many big beautiful eyes as they race up to hug me tight and unexpectantly, will fade. But I will always have the moment that a baby-becoming-a-toddler looked up one last time before her eyelids drooped and she snuggled in on my lap to sleep. I'm glad I didn't miss it this time.

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.