Rock-A-Bye My Baby

"Come on Lucy!" I holler as I walk through the door to my bedroom."You're brother's already in bed... let's go!" Lucy slithers closer to her daddy, trying to avoid the situation at hand. We've already read books, sung a million songs, and even snuggled in bed. Yet there's always some other excuse prolonging the inevitable bedtime. "Come on. If you come right now, I'll rock you in the chair". Lucy's ears perk up, causing the rest of her body to do the same as a smirk of disbelief crosses her face. She hops out of the queen-sized bed and after a quick detour to the potty, we find ourselves navigating our way through the dark nursery to the rocking chair. I am secretly anticipating this rare-these-days little moment together. I just got through rocking Todd who is quick to snuggle up, laying his little blanket on my left shoulder ever so precise, followed by his cheek rubbing into the soft, fuzzy fur of his "ganket". Lucy, on the other hand, takes the rocking chair as more of a place to ask tons of questions. "Why is it so dark?" "What's that noise?" "What's that other noise?" "Where's my Lamby?"
After answering her questions through my shhhhoosh's, she slowly begins to concede to the fact that she's tired. She tries every which way possible to get comfortable. Her long, gangly legs no longer tuck in so nicely against her chest. There's hardly room for the two of us. She eventually finds herself sprawled diagonally across my body, her back against my stomach, bare legs dangling over mine, and her head and arms flopping over the arm rest. Whatever...I'll take it!
I can't help but think about rocking in this same rocking chair as a brand new mom, tears flooding my eyes at 2a.m. as I sing my new baby to sleep. I was a mother! A concept that was so hard to conceive, yet there I was, holding her. Mine. My own. (My Precious?)
I can't help but think of the times I've sat there, rocking a hardly coherent, feverish child, trying to cool that tiny body with a damp rag.
That rocking chair has always been my go-to when my legs can't seem to stand anymore, or when I have a hungry, nursing baby. Many, many hours spent there pondering what the future holds for my dear, sweet child. I'm sure the cushion is molded perfectly to my bum.

Now, I sit there with my growing four-year-old. The faint light from the hallway, gently illuminates the soft features of her face. She's wearing only a t-shirt and some panties. She clutches onto the Lamby Aunt Hannah gave her as a welcome to this world. The proportions now changed from a large Lamby next to a tiny baby, to a tiny Lamby tucked under the arms of a big girl.
I study her. Soaking in everything I can about this moment.

Because it's slipping away already.

There will come a time when she won't want to rock with me anymore. She'll just hurry off to bed to read her Judy Blume book before falling asleep. Her friends will be on the forefront of her mind. She'll be worried if that boy likes her or not. And if her outfit is cute enough.
I can just see her squirming to get away from me as I beg for just one tiny little kiss or snuggle accompanied by an "Aahh! MOOOMM!!"

But for now, I'm going to keep on rocking my baby. Smelling that fresh-out-of-the-tub hair and rubbing that little back. From the footie pajamas to the knotted pig tails. Forever embedded in the depths of my heart. Always to be my little girl.