We just returned from a trip to Indiana with a two-fold purpose: take Secunda to a couple of appointments with her Riley endocrinologists and visit my folks. Secunda has recovered well from her surgery; is now walking on her own - even running some with her brothers and sisters. My guilt was assuaged somewhat when I took Quarta to the Doctor with knee pain and he related an anecdote of a 13-year old girl he diagnosed with a slipped growth plate who had already seen three doctors and spent five weeks "rehabilitating" at a Sports Medicine Clinic for thigh pain. The Dr. told me not to feel badly - even doctors miss this.
While in Indiana I sat in my father's over-size rocker/recliner to watch a television program. Quinta, my 5 year old daughter, our youngest child, crawled into my lap. So I got to rock my baby! And gently cry. I have a cross-stitch sampler I had always intended to stitch and frame above my rocking chair, but life intervened with my plans and it never got done.
Cleaning and scrubbing can wait 'til tomorrow,
For 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.
I once again got to rock my baby, and I'm a calmer woman for it. Even Secunda's good appointments didn't do as much for my heart as that five minutes in the rocking chair. It goes by so fast. Soon she'll be eleven and we'll be discussing menarche in the van on the way to Girl Scouts (the conversation between Secunda and me this week). Babies don't keep. Rock yours if you can.