For the last three nights, I’ve sat in the rickety old rocker in our library and attempted to rock Millie to sleep. Twice successfully; tonight less so.
This chair has seen better days. It squeaks badly when it rocks, and this is even after Mel’s dad performed some of his Eastern European carpenter voodoo on the rocker mechanism. The cushions were reupholstered a few years ago, right after Helen was born and its services were required anew. And the ottoman has long since been vanquished by age and overuse.
I love this chair. It was purchased in the fall of 1997, and in its life of just over 13 years I’ve used its powers to rock all three of my babies to sleep. It was first put to use in a tiny green house at 1020 Colorado Street, where I’d rock Megan to sleep to the sounds of locusts in the big tree outside the window while I sang her Ozzy Osbourne songs. It moved to Minnesota with us, then found a place in my home with Melissa and was called back into service for Helen in 2005.
Now, it’s managed to remain usable for Millie. I’m not sure how much life it’ll have left when Millie is done being rocked into oblivion. Probably not much. But it’s been a great chair, and I’ve got lots of great memories of my babies in it.