Saturday, June 12, 2010

Lessons from a Green Rocking Chair


Our trusty green rocking chair sat looking somewhat dejected at the yardsale this morning, surrounded by outgrown clothes, Jonah's too-small toddler bed, and Steve's old golf clubs priced to for a quick sale. This rocker is nothing incredible, not particularly hip or stylish or cool, but I'm fairly certain that I've learned most of what I know about being a mother while gliding back and forth in this old chair with my two little boys.

Was it really more that five years ago that I sat in that chair, awkward with swollen belly and puffy feet, watching Jonah's tiny hands press up against the taut skin from the inside, as if trying to escape? I had such expectations, such impatience for his arrival, such fear about my own inadequacy. So I rocked.

Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

And then, miraculously, Jonah was here, nursing ravenously and endlessly in those early weeks. I remember the quiet, the peace, the intoxicatingly sweet smell of his head, the exhaustion. Jonah suckled; I breathed and watched him, and we rocked.

Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

And there were days (and nights) when he was cranky and colicky. Through Jonah's wails, I willed him to sleep, sang endless lullabyes, and shushed desperately in the moments when I was certain this tiny boy would never be comforted. Only the motion of the green chair seemed to calm him (and me), and so we rocked.

Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

Then Jonah was a busy toddler, but he often climbed his pudgy little body onto the green cushion, and begged, "read, mama, please read!". Together, we discovered Dr. Seuss, Mike Mulligan, and The Runaway Bunny, and all the while, we rocked.

Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

And soon, there was a new tiny one in the chair with me. Eli and I learned each other's faces in this rocker and his little fist gripped my hand. I relished the middle-of-the-night nursing sessions there, so grateful for a few quiet moments just for the two of us. I sung him "Beautiful Boy", and we rocked.

Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

And together, we devoured even more books in that glider. First one little boy perched on my knee with Goodnight Moon, then another snuggled in on the other knee, and both boys joined in together with the old lady who was whispering "hush". Peaceful and perfectly content even in the midst of the daily craziness, we read and we rocked.

Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

And now they are both growing again, and the old rocking chair can no longer hold us. Jonah's daily stresses are becoming more complicated now, can no longer be calmed simply by the familiar gliding rhythm, and Eli can't be bothered with this chair that is clearly not designed for "big boys". But as I watched the old rocker drive away in the back of someone's pickup truck this afternoon, I couldn't help but offer up a prayer of gratitude. And I stood in the driveway, arms wrapped around myself in the drizzly rain, and ever so imperceptibly, I rocked.

And on it goes...

6 comments:

  1. Beautifully put. We just sold our rocker in a garage sale last month & I understand the sentiment. :)

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  2. Hey there!

    The last sentence gave me chills. We're preparing for a yard sale next month. I will remember this when it is time for me to let things go, things that brought me so much happiness.

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  3. this made me a bit teary-eyed and i don't even have kids to rock....

    Mel

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  4. I cried :) What a beautiful post...Thanks for continually sharing! I can't wait to be a mother one day!

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  5. I had been thinking about recovering ours and putting it somewhere else in the house... Good thing I didn't follow through because now we need it again as you know! Hope giving your rocker away doesn't seal your fate too! JK. Love you Trease. Lovely as always.

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  6. Jeesh - a crying fool over here. Thanks Trease. Beautiful and so true of such a sweet short time.

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