For babies grow up we’ve learned to our sorrow.
So settle down cobwebs, dust go to sleep,
I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep.
My wise mother-in-law made me a cross stitched sampler when my first baby was born with this poem on it. It hung by my rocking chair and was a constant reminder that there was nothing I needed to accomplish that was nearly as important as time spent savoring the people God had entrusted me with. I think I might just hang it back up.