I bet I’ve rocked more miles in this chair than I’ve driven. Back and forth…back and forth.

With Reeve, I remember every 4 of 5 months or so it would creak and one of the four screws in the bottoms would fall out. Kirk would flip it back and put the screw back in. I always loved it when it did that….it felt like the chair was my old car and the screw was a wheel that I’d driven until it was flat. It made me feel like I had been on a long journey across the country. 

What I love about that chair most of all is not the color (mustard) or the fabric (velvety something) or the way that it glides more than it rocks. I love that my chair has been the place both of my babies have been able to nurse and look into my eyes and fall into sleeps so deep they moan and make those newborn baby sounds.

Lowe loves to rock as much as his brother did. I’m sure all babies do. He nurses and clutches at the skin on my chest, staring into my eyes, gulping and chugging.

My elbow rests on the Be Brave pillow I bought at Michael’s and he and I do what I did with Reeve. We stare at each other and memorize the others’ face.

I cataloging his spiky hair. His right eyebrow that raises higher than the other. His big eyes, the calloused upper lip of a breastfed baby. A neck that is only found when his head leans back. The double chin and the hair that covered his back, ears and arms.

This chair, it’s where the magic happens in this house. It’s where two people that I brought into this world both fell in love with me. I’ve sang “Stand By Me” countless times in that chair. Other than my own bed at 10pm at night, it’s my favorite place to be in this whole house.
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