Each night when I put Jack down at Mom and Dad's, I rock him to sleep in the same no-frills black wooden rocker that Mom has used with all of her grandchildren.
The chair's creaks syncopate against the rocking motion. Every so often there is an odd, slight cracking sound. Shift the baby's weight in your arms and the chair accommodates with the slightest groan.
The first night home I was putting Jack down, the rocker brought me back years. The memory of the sounds was more visceral than aural. Meanwhile, Jack nods off just like the 12 grandchildren before him.
No comments:
Post a Comment