August 9, 2015

Dust, go to sleep.

Our house is a mess (and that's generous at best). We try to clean frequently,  but can't quite keep up. The baby's things are slowly taking over the house. At first, it didn't seem like she had that much stuff and the things she did have were contained to her nursery. Not anymore! She now rules the roost, and her stuff is everywhere... because frankly, that's what is convenient. 

Her drool and spit-up is certainly not contained to her nursery. So there's a burp cloth on each couch, one in every room, and two under my pillow at night. 

Sometimes I have productive spurts while Hazel takes a nap - usually laundry, scrubbing up my pump parts and Hazel's bottles, and corralling the dirty dishes into the washer. However, most of the cleaning and yard work is done on the weekends when we have two hands on deck. But the more time we spend cleaning, the less quality time we get to spend together as a family.

Throughout the week our house gets dirty, and then sometimes on the weekends we just need to have fun and get by and let the chores wait. Of course, there is a balance and we have to get the cleaning done at some point, but these days it's just not the priority.  We're with our baby, and as the poem below says... "babies don't keep."

So be warned when you come a knocking, the house isn't kept and we haven't slept, but we're spending these moments with our baby, rocking. 

This poem has been blogged and sung and cross-stitched a gazillion times, but that's a testament to how true it rings in the hearts of parents. My eyes welled up the first time I read it before we even brought Hazel home, and these have been the words I have lived by for the last (almost) 5 months.

Song for a Fifth Child 
by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton



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