I just have to say...

I have loved rocking my babies to sleep. I approach with dread the day that Finn decides he wants to put himself down. There is nothing better than breathing in that sunshine and rainbows smell off that little blond head and snuggling his little body until he slips off. I would never ever trade the few years I've had of rocking my kids to sleep, despite the wakings and re-rockings we've been peppered with, for having a "trained" baby.

I know I've posted this poem before, but it bears repeating:

Song for a Fifth Child

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 her 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.

by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton