When my son was small, I had this poem copied and printed, framed it, and put it by my bed. I'd like to share it with young moms. (If anyone knows the author's identity, please let me know so I can give credit.) No truer words about motherhood have EVER been written.
MY HANDS WERE BUSY
My hands were busy through the day.
I didn’t have much time to play.
The little games you asked to do,
I didn’t have much time for you.
I’d wash your clothes, I’d sew and cook,
but when you'd bring your picture book
and ask me, please, to share your fun,
I say "a little later, Son."
I’d tuck you in all safe at night,
and hear your prayers, turn out the light
then tiptoe softly by your door.
I wish I’d stayed a minute more.
For life is short, the years rush past,
A little boy grows up so fast.
No longer is he at your side,
his precious secrets to confide.
The picture books are put away,
there are no children's games to play.
No goodnight kiss, no prayers to hear.
That all belongs to yesteryear.
My hands, once busy, now lie still.
The days are long and hard to fill.
I wish I could go back and do
the little things you asked me to do.