It’s not productive, I know,
To hold you like this.

When there’re a thousand things
I could do but now miss.

The lawn needs a’mowing, the laundry a’folding,
I could go for a jog, or finally blog.
I have bills to pay, a book to write,
Emails piled up with no end in sight.

I know I should leave you in the bassinet or crib,
That’s what Super Moms do, the kinds that don’t fib.
I should always put you down drowsy but awake,
Let you cry-it-out, for goodness sake.
No nursing to bed, no rocking to sleep,
That’s how Unproductiveness will, into our lives, creep.
No spoiling the baby, that’s a crime they say,
That’s for moms who (gasp) waste their time away.

The house is quiet now,
What a rare treat.
I should put you down and cook for the week.

But instead, I bend down,
Scoop you up, unfold your frown.
Hold you close to my nose,
To smell your hair, like a rose.
Time stops, I breathe,
Promise me you’ll never leave.

It’s true what they say,
That the days are long but the years, so short.
When moments slip away, they can never be re-bought.
Your older sis is only two,
But out of the door she bolts through,
No more kisses or hugs, just “Buh-bye Mama!” Without looking back.
How times flies- she’s omnipotent now,
A big girl without any lack.

So for now, I’ll hold you, my cherry blossom,
As you breathe daisy breaths right on my bosom.
I’ll savour your face to catch a delicious milkdrunk smile,
I’ll give up the world, for this wee little while.

It’s not productive, I know,
To hold you like this.

But I’d trade that to know
What it means to know Bliss.

Love,
Mama

Bliss.

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