Before I ever had babies, I saw this sweet poem. Pretty sure it was done in a nice needlepoint tableau and hung above a toilet in my aunt’s home. Wait, no that’s the one about sprinkling when you tinkle. It must have been in the hallway. Maybe you’ve seen it. Maybe you even have a copy of your own.
Cleaning and scrubbing can wait til tomorrow
‘Cause babies grow up, we’ve learned to our sorrow.
So quiet down cobwebs,
Dust go to sleep.
I’m rocking my baby
And babies don’t keep.
You might even find it on a fridge magnet.
It’s a nice sentiment. It’s true, babies don’t keep. They change all the time.
You know what else doesn’t keep?
Your veggie drawer
Bananas (they are a very fickle fruit)
Friends, (see veggie drawer)
Of course, babies are more important than housework, but what if tomorrow never comes? What if you just keep reading that poem every day and heeding its advice? Wait, wait, wait – what if we really did heed this advice?
Can’t scrub the toilets today, rocking my baby.
Nope, sorry, not going to vacuum, this is time I won’t get back.
Lunches are no longer my department, can’t you see I’m rocking a baby?
You’ll always be my baby. Hold still, I don’t want to mop.
I’d like to empty the dishwasher, but my baby will never be this age again. Ever. Ok, he’s nine, but he’ll never be nine again. This is precious time, precious I tell you.