Kiss My Kitsch!

When I think about adding another baby to the mix, I imagine the craziness, I worry about the cost, I remember the sleepless nights.  But then I stop myself and remember what it is like to be the only one awake in a dark, quiet house, rocking a sweet-smelling (usually) little human being in my arms.  Watching the eyelids flutter, looking at the little bowed mouth, hearing the soft breaths.

I’m chalking it up to the hormones, because I’m typically not a fan of anything that looks good in cross stitch, but I like this old house-wifey poem from the 1950’s.  I’m not particularly domestic, but it is a nice reminder of what is important (baby) and what is not (dusting).  And it reminds me of the hours and hours I spent rocking my little one, when I had 4 million other things I could/should have been doing.

Song for a Fifth Child by Ruth Hulbert Hamilton

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 hullabaloo
But I’m playing Kanga and this is my Roo.
Look! Aren’t her eyes the most wonderful hue?
(Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).

The 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 and babies don’t keep…

(Printed in Lady’s Home Journal, 1958)

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