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Babies Don’t Keep

October 6, 2013

I came across this poem and it perfectly expresses how I feel about being a working mom.  My standards for the house have dropped, and I’m fine with that.  Something has to give.  So here’s a sweet poem, by a Ruth, dedicated from me to my Ruth.

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.

IMG_6657-2602941644-OWhere 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 his eyes the most wonderful hue?

Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby 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.

~ Ruth Hulbert Hamilton

My Roo

My Roo


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