a rocking chair lullaby

Midnight.

Sitting in a dark room, rocking my youngest daughter back to sleep. She has been sick for the past few days, so we have both been up late into the night.

I hold her close and sink down deeper into my rocking chair.

It’s padded and soft. I quietly rock back and forth with Mia snuggled in my arms. Soothing for her. Soothing for me.

I remember my mom’s rocking chair. Delicately carved wood. Classic in color and ease in functionality.

We played on it as kids, but I can’t imagine it was comfortable for my mom.  No built-in padding. No soft gliding motion. No squishy ottoman to stretch out tired legs.

It provided the simplicity of a swaying rhythm, which when in the arms of mom is all that is needed.

A few minutes have passed, she is softly breathing in my arms. Relaxed and sleepy once more.

I am enjoying the closeness of her. Her head against my chest; listening to my heartbeat.

She hugs her blanket.

Not too many moments like this anymore, she is usually moving a million miles a minute.

I lay her down in her crib. She is fast asleep.

A rainbow of tiny stars sparkle on her ceiling, beaming out from a fuzzy purple unicorn.

I pat the rocker with familiarity, thankful for the support.

Close the door.

Good night sweet girl.

2 thoughts on “a rocking chair lullaby

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