As I rocked her to sleep last night, I felt thankful for the glider chair a friend had handed down to me. I didn't receive it until she was over a year old and wondered if I would even use it that much. Even though it isn't every night, the nights that I do rock her to sleep are quite possibly some of my fullest moments......where there is still and quiet. When it feels like all that exists is my love for her along with the looming heaviness that every time I look down at her she is a little bit older. Motherhood is like a constant tug-of-war. On one side is the sheer need of just getting through the day while the other side is screaming for time to slow down or God forbid, stand still. Thankfully, rocking her in that chair it feels like God hears my screaming...if only for a second.
I began thinking of the dear friend that gave me the glider and the moments she may have had while rocking her children to sleep. Some full of contentment, some exhausted and weary, some racked with lonlieness, but all beautiful. I looked around my nursery taking in all the things that had been handed down to me from other mothers and it made me so grateful. Not just for the things, but for the constant reminder that these items are filled with other mothers' laughter and tears, other women taking one day at a time, trying to balance it all, trying to be the best, trying to ignore the guilt, trying to have a routine while trying to be flexible, trying to be a constant safe place while trying to be prepared for anything at anytime....a mood change, a blowout, a fall, a choking hazard, a glass of wine being knocked over in slow motion. They've all been there. And when I rock in that glider and take in the walls around me, it makes me feel connected. And when motherhood can feel like an island, that reminder is priceless.
