The Rocking Chair

I love walking into my daughters' room and seeing it sitting there.

Over 30 years ago my mama crafted it to sit in my nursery. Seeing it sitting there conjures beautiful thoughts of a young woman with a small round belly, hair tied back in a scarf, running a paintbrush full of yellow paint over the rocker blades. She sits on the floor, brow furrowed in concentration as she weaves the seat where her unborn child will sit one day. A smile flickers on her lips as the mural of a blue bird perched on some prairie grasses comes to life to adorn the place where that child's back will rest.

Those images are pregnant with emotion for me. As that woman's child, I feel loved. Cherished. Treasured. 

When I brought the chair out of storage it was, I thought, hopelessly dirty and dusty. I set to work cleaning it. The warm September sun gently dried the fibers of the freshly shampooed seat. My dust rag lingered over the mural that was lovingly painted so many years ago. It gave me great joy getting that rocker ready for the nursery. Now my babies sit where I once sat. My heart is full.

(I promise I didn't pose Hadley this way--her legs are in the same position mine were)