The little one is in bed. We've recently started rocking. With the girls, I rocked them to bed every night of their little baby lives, often to a beautiful CD of music, Martha Stewart's 'Sleepytime' (slightly tangential note: I went to post a link to this great CD here, and, lo and behold, it's no longer widely available AND a new copy costs $89.00. How crazy is that?). With the little guy, we have always lain down and he's gone to sleep.
He's a little wiggler now, though, so we have started rocking and I put him in his crib to start the night. So, just now, rocking him, I realized that there is a peaceful moment at bedtime, when everybody is settled in, the girls reading with Charles (right now it's Prince Caspian by C.S. Lewis), I am with Romain. The rocking is so soothing, to the baby of course, but also to me. And I realize why it came to pass that I have rocked someone to bed probably 2000 nights in the last seven and a half years. The rocking washes away the day, puts it in order, I can shut my eyes and put my head back, and I, too, am rocked to a different place.
The chair I use Charles bought for me at the flea market at Place de Jeu de Balles in Brussels, a few months before Ines was born, almost eight years ago. Its nothing fancy, just worn wood, with a slightly uncomfortable back that I wouldn't change for the world, and by now it's absorbed so many moments and memories, and nighttime thoughts and baby sighs, that it is surely priceless.
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