Quotes / inspirational / beautiful motherhood verses

[monkeysmama]

I am making a Baby Book for my friend who's just had her baby son and am looking for some nice quotes, thoughts etc about motherhood and babies.

MM

[Milliways]

I love "Babies Don't keep"

I hope my children will look back some day
And remember a Mother who had time to play.
There will be years for sweeping & cooking
Children grow up whilst you're not looking.
So, quiet down cobwebs, and dust go to sleep
fo I'm rocking my baby
and babies don't keep

[MrsTiddles]

shakespeare's sonnet 11

As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou growest
In one of thine, from that which thou departest;
And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestowest
Thou mayst call thine when thou from youth convertest.
Herein lives wisdom, beauty and increase:
Without this, folly, age and cold decay:
If all were minded so, the times should cease
And threescore year would make the world away.
Let those whom Nature hath not made for store,
Harsh featureless and rude, barrenly perish:
Look, whom she best endow'd she gave the more;
Which bounteous gift thou shouldst in bounty cherish:
She carved thee for her seal, and meant thereby
Thou shouldst print more, not let that copy die.

[justgaveup]

'I can't fight your battles for you, but I'm here in the corner with the bucket and sponge'

...always makes me cry!

[justgaveup]

Lullaby

Go to sleep, Mum,
I won't stop breathing
suddenly in the night

Go to sleep, I won't
climb out of my cot and
tumble downstairs

Mum, I won't swallow
the pills the doctor gave you
or put hairpins in electric
sockets ,just go to sleep

I won't cry
when you take me to school and leave me;
I'll be happy with other children
my own age

Sleep, Mum. Sleep
I won't
fall in the pond,
play with matches,
run under a lorry or even consider
sweets from strangers.

No, I won't
give you a lot of lip
not like some

I won't sniff glue.
fail all my exams,
get myself/my girlfriend pregnant
I'll work hard and get a steady
really worthwhile job.
I promise, go to sleep

I'll never forget
to drop in/phone/write
And if
I need any milk, I'll yell

Rosemary Norman

[Flamesparrow]

another vote for babies don't keep - this one has an extra 2 lines:

I hope my children will look back on today
And see a mother who had time to play.
There will be years for cleaning and cooking
But children grow up while we're not looking.
Dusting and scrubbing can wait 'till tomorrow
For babies grow fast we learn to our sorrow.
So quiet down cobwebs and dust go to sleep
I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep.

[Cocodrillo]

This is a bit late in the day, I know. Also is from the point of view of a Dad, not a mum...

Waking with Russell

Whatever the difference is, it all began
the day we woke up face-to-face like lovers
and his four-day-old smile dawned on him again,
possessed him, till it would not fall or waver;
and I pitched back not my old hard-pressed grin
but his own smile, or one I'd rediscovered.
Dear son, I was mezzo del cammin
and the true path was as lost to me as ever
when you cut in front and lit it as you ran.
See how the true gift never leaves the giver:
returned and redelivered, it rolled on
until the smile poured through us like a river.
How fine, I thought, this waking amongst men!
I kissed your mouth and pledged myself forever.

Don Paterson

[Cocodrillo]

This I like too, from a book called 'Newborn':

Kate Clanchy : Not Art

This is close work, this baby-stuff,

the intricate wiping and wrapping, the slow

unpicking of miniature fists;

village-work, a hand-craft, all bodges

and spit, the gains inchingly small

as the knotting of carpets, raw wool

rasping in the teeth of the comb.

The strewing and stooping, the prising

of muck from the grain of the floor -

I think of gleaners, ash-sifters, of tents

sewn with shoe soles, wedding veils, plaits,

how patchwork is stitched-up detritus,

how it circles on quilts like a house split

to bits when the typhoon has passed.

And the ache in the neck, in the back,

in the foot, are the knocks of wood looms,

narrow as cradles, borne from pasture

to valley to camp. I am learning

the art of mistakes, to accept

that the marks of each day are woven in

by evening too far back to pick out.

This is the work women draw from the river,

wet to the waist, singing in time,

the work we swing from our shoulders,

lay on the ground and let the crowd

hold and finger and value - the young girls

wondering, the laughing old women,

the bent, the milk-eyed, the blind.