It lives in Zee's room and is used for nursing my baby off to the land of nod. My mum, Betty, bought it for me while I was pregnant with Zee. After LD's babyhood, I discovered it was the one thing I felt I should have purchased from the beginning. I knew I was going to be spending a lot of time in that chair so I needed it to be super-ultra-comfy. And not the usual ugly as sin nursing chairs I'd seen previously. Black pleather? Oh yes, a perfect addition to the typical nursery decor.
So, we found this one. My rocking chair. The rockingest chair of all.
I love it. But I lament a simpler time for my rocking chair and I.
Betty made the purchase a few months out from Zee's birth. B set it up in our bedroom which is where little baby would be sleeping in the early days.
We had just moved into a new house. There was that smell. New. Nobody else's DNA to corrupt it. My germ-phobic self was in heaven.
Winter had come and gone. The spring days dawned crisply. Perfect weather for fat pregnants like myself.
Zee was safely tucked up under my heart and LD still took naps. Both were infinitely more manageable back then. And lovable. Correlation between how much I love my children and how much they sleep? Strong. Very strong.
I remember the time so fondly.
It was to be the calm before the storm.
So I am wistful about my rocking chair and the peaceful times we shared. While LD napped, I would sit in my chair, feet up, rocking and reading. In particular, I read two books that my mother had loaned me. They had been sitting on my bookshelf for at least a year and I was delighted to be making a dent in the veritable shitload of books that had been stacking up.
The first was The Time Traveller's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger.
The second was The Book Thief by Markus Zusak.
The first intrigued me, I assumed I would like it, and I certainly did.
The second was probably on my bookshelf for more than two years. I did not want to read it. I did not expect to like it. I absolutely, wildly, LOVED it. It will go down as one of my all time favourite books. Oh man, it was good.
I will always remember discovering this magical book while rocking in my very favourite chair.
And so, I breastfeed my pinching, eyelash grabbing, totally-worn-out-his-boobing-welcome baby son in my beloved chair and dream of a time when we can be alone together again.
Some day, I will have a room. A room with my writing desk, a wall of books and a big bay window that the sunshine streams through. And the chair. And I'll read in it just whenever I please.