cold water
I’ve rocked all my babies to sleep at night, from the very beginning, swaddled tightly, their eyes just squinty slits, until well past their first birthdays or even their second. I’ve rocked each one of them in the same rocker in the same spot in my bedroom singing the same lullabies and Beatles songs for ten years now. For ten years I have spent twenty minutes of every evening, sometimes much longer, rocking and singing in the twilight, against all the experts’ advice, and I’ve loved it.
The routine has been the same with each baby – bath, books, boobs, bed – but each child put their own stamp on our time together: Keira liked to fall asleep with her fingers in my mouth; Madigan liked to stroke my cheek; Rowan twisted her fingers in my long hair; and now Finn likes to pinch my back fat (not my favorite stamp!) Madigan didn’t like me to sing. Keira’s favorite song was You are My Sunshine. Rowan fell asleep the fastest. Finn likes my closet light on.
Each child brought to the rocker their own security items. Keira always held a stuffed pig. Madigan had a blanket (she still sleeps with it) named Rocky after she coined our nightly ritual Rocky Rocky. Rowan took forever bonding with a woobie but finally fell for an orange stuffed frog named Bibbet, while Finn has to have his stuffed penguin named Duck, his striped blanket, and Daddy’s red pillow.
I don’t remember when each girl gave up Rocky Rocky, but I do know a new baby in the house usually precipitated the transition. It must have been smooth as no major battles or even little ones come to mind when I try to remember each end.
And now at night I rock my last baby, and his legs hang awkwardly off my lap, and he struggles to fit his long arm comfortably behind my back.
And I know I’ve maybe got a few thousand rocks left. With each push of my foot I rock closer to an end.
And it feels like breathing cold water, like the last rock will take me off a cliff, and I’ll tumble into a deep well of not-being-needed.
My enemy, Change, keeps knocking at my door and for my children I always open it and step aside.
But what I really want to do is to slam it shut and pile in front of it every brick ever made in this world.
And hide behind that barricade
Rocking and singing.
Meg you have left me speechless and wanting to cry for you. I actually look forward all day to that time of night when i have quiet rocking time with Marley, it is truly special. I so feel for you ):
Beautiful.
Oh. my. word. I cannot express how beautiful this post is, and how much it touched me.
I love this post!
I’m feeling it…my baby is turning five…FIVE!!!
Five isn’t a baby! And I spend a whole day wearing my first baby’s socks last week and I didn’t even know it.
You are My Sunshine was the the song for kid 1, and Hush Little Baby was the song for kid 2. He played with his hair and my hair, twisting them together, and she strokes earlobes. He sucked his thumb, and she couldn’t sit still for a story; she’d only put up with a book with flaps, or soft bits, or pop-ups.
Thanks for the mammaries. I mean memories.
so poignant and beautiful…
Sigh.
This is creepy because, lately, I’ve felt exactly the same way. Intensely. I only have two babies - but I’m 46 and my youngest is 2.5. He too is hanging off my lap when I rock him and sing. He loves it still but I know it’s only a matter of time (months? weeks?) before he’s too big and we’ll evolve to lying on a bed together reading. How sad this has made me feel shocks me……
I just can’t read you when I’m PMSing, Meg.
ACK, my throat is CLOSING.
..and then they up an go to college. That’s what happened at my house. From the rocker - out the door before you know it.
I thought we agreed, never, but never, to utter, “last baby.”
hey. why did that make it a stupid face?
i wanted the colon/first parenthesie (i made that spelling up by the way) “face”.
i guess if we’re coming clean i should admit i already cried about keira’s wedding before maddie was born.
Lovely.
(And also - can I add that I LOVE that you did, and are doing it, as long as you could -and can-, with each baby. The world wants those little ones to grow up way too fast and I don’t see anything wrong with the extra love and cuddle time. I rock Alice now and I’m going to do it as long as she’ll let me. Thank you.)
My older boy hated You Are My Sunshine - his song was always I’ve Been Working on the Railroad. But my girl loves it! After we read 4 or 5 toddler books, we turn out the light, and I ask her if we should sing some songs, what should we start with - and she always says Sunsine Momma, sunsine.
I miss the singing with son, sometimes he’ll still ask for Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, but not often enough.
I don’t know how much longer I’ll have to rock my girl to sleep. Some nights I sit in the dark with her asleep in my arms, still rocking, I’ll doze too, and I know I have to pay attention to this Right Now, because it’ll be done before I know it.
I was thinking about this last night. I was snuggled under the covers, cuddling with my boy (zonked-out-cold). His hands were close to mine. His feet tucked between my knees, just like when he was a baby. His head was tucked against my chest, just like when he was a baby. I slipped my hand into his and he closed his fingers on mine, just for a moment. For that instant I felt like he was my nursing baby again. Oh, lordie, do I miss it. I miss holding them so closely (even when I was begging them to stop touching me). I miss them falling to sleep with their arms wrapped around me (one would pick my moles, the other stuck his fingers in my nose and mouth). I just miss them. Miss them being babies. Sigh.
Time for another, wouldn’t you say?
Ohhhh, ouch.
And really, this is against the experts’ advice? A display of hands-on love that your kids can count on more regularly than the postman? A feeling they will remember forever and ever and ever? Puh-lease.
This was so beautiful.
Even reading the comments from this post - which I’ve read three times in the last week - make my old-lady ovaries ache.
Oh, you’ll still be needed by them. Always.