Rocking Chair

Last night I was up until 4am. Annabel wouldn't go to sleep, not even if placed beside me in bed. After hours of rotating between holding her, nursing her, burping her and placing her into her bed and finally my own, I caved in and made my way to the rocker.

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The same rocking chair has held me as I've rocked all of my children. It sits in the exact same spot, in our bedroom, across from the baby bed. It's worn now, the green paisley cushions faded and soft. It was a gift after the birth of my first child and it's more than paid for itself since.

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I sat down and cuddled Annabel close to me, she adjusted her tiny body, her little head shifting forcefully from right to left. I waited paitently as she found just the right position. She sighed softly and closed her eyes. One of my hands gently patted her on the back, the other wrapped undearneath her tiny legs, holding her close. I placed my cheek upon her head, her soft baby fuzz hair smelled of lavender.

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As I rocked, my mind shifted back to other nights. I recalled rocking Arwen in that same chair. I was so scared back then. The slightest cry would have me checking her entire little body over. With Logan I didn't rock as often, he was a sound sleeper but we did use the chair more than a few times. I would gently stroke his face and hair and he would gaze up at me with his beautiful grey eyes. With Vincent I rocked so many nights away. He loved the familiar sway of the chair as my legs rocked us back and forth. I loved to sing softly to him in the quiet darkness of our room.

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I smiled as I remembered all of this. But in the fondness of my memories, there was a trace of sadness. I realized I wouldn't be rocking another child (at least not one of my own) in that chair after Annabel. The rocker will sit in the corner, a reminder of times and nights gone by.

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I rocked Annabel long after she had fallen deeply asleep, cherishing the moment and burning it into my memory. This is the one thing I will truly miss. They grow so fast.