I am back in the rocking chair once again. The baby I used to rock to sleep now lays down by herself with her Bear Bear and I'm rocking another baby girl. Forward and back, forward and back. Lots of minutes to think...
I am watching my older daughter do baby yoga in her bed, or maybe it's pilates, with leg lifts and sweeping arms.
I am scared of being consumed by three small children, of my own identity fading as I am wrapped up in theirs.
I am praying for this child that I hold close, for her present, for her future, for her to sleep peacefully on this particular night, for the scars she doesn't know she has yet.
I am singing, mostly hymns, trying to remember all the words, though the sleepyhead in my arms doesn't care.
I am wondering why this chair ends up 45 degrees turned and three feet back from where I start with it every night.
I am guessing and doubting, wondering and learning what this child needs.
I am regretting never sewing those padded covers to ease the edges of these chair arms against my own arms.
I am arranging big girl furniture in my head, because these little girls who share hours in this rocking chair with me will not always be so little...