Rocking Chair Retirement: The End of an Era

As I sit here rocking my sweet 2 ½ year old daughter to sleep – it dawns on me that we are only a short time away from the retirement of our beloved rocking chair. My daughter is my youngest and my last.  My son retired from rocking around age 3 – when he preferred nightly books read in his bed and post-book snuggles lying beside him.

It is bitter-sweet to say goodbye to this friend, who saw me grow from an unknowing 30-something – unsure what to do with this new baby boy – to a closer to 40-something who courageously & intuitively parents two small children.

As I look back at the past 5 years, this chair and I have been through quite a lot.

I have spent countless hours rocking in the chair – with my rudimentary math – that is over 1800 days that involved some sort of rocking in this exact spot. Days that during maternity leave – lasted hours – nursing and napping….other times were mere minutes to all-nighters.

This chair has seen us through colds, coughs, RSV, ear infections, croup, hand-foot-and-mouth, pinkeye, fifth disease, stomach flus, roseola – it’s a wonder we haven’t burned it!

Our sweet chair has been covered in spit-up (especially with my son), had breast milk spilled on it as I precariously fed and pumped, formula has leaked out of bottles on it, sippy cups of water and milk have mysteriously come uncapped, it has been thrown up on one too many times for my own comfort (since the throw up was on me and then spilled onto the chair), coffee has dripped down on it and during potty-training it was probably peed on more than once.

Rocking, sleeping, laying sideways – I know every position of comfort in the chair. I’ve snuck out from underneath little bodies and left them lay in its nook while I sat on the floor watching over them.

I know the hum of its squeaks and they all speak to a memory.

Its cushion is sculpted to my butt, and has accommodated it getting bigger as the years pass and I take less care of myself and more care of the happiness that has filled my heart. Rocking in the chair pre-motherhood I imagined my life with children while reflecting on my big belly. My arms have held 7 ½ lb bodies as they nod off into a milk coma and as late of last week, I held both my 4 ½ year old and 2 ½ year old within the chair’s strong frame as they nestled into me and fell asleep.

This chair can recite Tumford the Terrible, Good Night Gorilla and Wild by heart. It knows which lines in the book On The Night Your Were Born will cause my voice to crack.

It has embraced us as we practiced counting, singing and silly voices. The chair has been in the background of numerous selfies documenting the beauty of breastfeeding, capturing the silent sweetness as my littles slept in my arms, showing the awkward positions of non-movement to keep those same littles asleep and capturing joyous smiles as we giggle together!

It can tell my mood based on what song I sing as the kids drift off to sleep – only it knows why I sing Hallelujah, Ballad of Love & Hate, Bobbie McGee, Jane Says, Part of Your World, Crucify…or Should Have Been a Cowboy.

Rocking, sleeping, laying sideways – I know every position of comfort in the chair. I’ve snuck out from underneath little bodies and left them lay in its nook while I sat on the floor watching over them. It’s soft texture has absorbed my tears as I figured out breast-feeding, questioned my parenting ability, struggled with going back to work, discovered my husband’s cancer, worried that a second child would ruin everything, was overwhelmed with long days in the office and as I came to terms with my daughter as my last child.

Rocking chair – you’ve been good to us. I love you to the moon and back – thank you my friend!