Babies Won’t Keep
Why haven't I posted the entire story of my child's birth yet?
Why did I have to set a reminder in my Outlook Calendar to do the dishes?
Why is the only basic email communication I've had between my mother and the 73-year old retired Welshman I play online chess with?
Why is my beard scratchy with new growth and my crotch jungley with unwashing?
Because babies won't keep.
I have Wifeage to thank for this house remaining in working condition while I am not, as he's still getting up for a feed a lot at night and that's Dad Duty (in exchange for doing little else mind you... I didn't even grow him in my belly, so I'm getting off light).
Wonderful, beautiful, amazingly capable and rocking this shit out of everything Wifeage sent me this poem, and I challenge you to read the entire thing, out loud, without getting allergies in your eyes.
It's paraphrased a bit by Wifeage, but that only makes it awesomer:
Song for a Fifth Child
(Fourth works just as well ;)
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 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 will wait till tomorrow,
For 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.
***
See? I can't even copy and paste it here without getting a bit misty.
Just about everybody I know sometimes needs a really bulletrpoof argument against housekeeping, and here's mine:
When they're 19 and out on their own and talking agnstily with their other young and angsty friends, do you want them chiming in the parent-bashing with, "Yeah, my parents never had any fun with me either. They thought going to the shops and riding the choo-choo thing was fun for me!"
Or do you want them to say, "My parents weren't slobs, but they weren't big on cleaning. They made me do housework whenever I was in trouble, which was fairly common/hardly at all, but Saturday Mornings ALWAYS meant cartoons, pancakes and loud music in the kitchen while they danced with us and sometimes made out with each other... ewwwwwww."
Now, if you'll excuse me, Ben 10: Alien Force is on.
