Do we realize that these babies didn't want to get on this world? They weren't in a hurry to get to this world, we gave them the life...but by giving the life our responsibility doesn't end. We should support them, guide them, form them on this road of life using our best intentions and feelings. We should create a supportive environment for their current life and the future one that will became current with a blink of an eye as well.
Dear parents, our children grow incredibly fast. It would be mainly our waste to loose the most precious time that your life can offer you. From some reason You were suppose to become parents, so take it as a gift not a curse and try to be the best – not in the whole world, but just for your children.
Faithfully Yours Nanny B.
Statistically there are 140.4 million babies born every year, 384 000 in day, 267 in one minute. So imagine that by the end of reading this motto post there were 267 babies born in the whole world. It is an incredible number and if you imagine that in every day we have 1440minutes, that is a lot of new little ones comming to this world. But how many times do we stop and think about it. Well we don't unless somebody meantions it, because we are way too ocupied by our own problems that are in this modern age sometimes, pardon me for this expression "silly". If we don't think about these numbers it is quite all right but it is not quite all right if these silly things keep our mind away from our own children. In this one minute of your life there is you comming to this world once again. So enjoy it and love your children love yourself your natural continuation as much as you can.
ReplyDeleteWilliam Shakespeare wrote in his Sonets that our children are the greatest gift we can give to this world. So if for any reason you don't love yourself love at least yourself in your children and give them your best.
Sonet n. 2 - William Shakespeare
When forty winters shall beseige thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty’s field,
Thy youth’s proud livery, so gazed on now,
Will be a tatter’d weed, of small worth held:
Then being ask’d where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days,
To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserved thy beauty’s use,
If thou couldst answer ‘This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count and make my old excuse,’
Proving his beauty by succession thine!
This were to be new made when thou art old,
And see thy blood warm when thou feel’st it cold.