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Mourning Their Littleness from Our Stalwart Rocking Chair

Affectionate mother and daughter sitting in rocking chair.

This is my rocking chair. It was my rocking chair with Noah. I remember shopping for it in Babies”R”Us like it was yesterday. It was the softest and the widest and my nine-month-pregnant body fit in it. Sold.

My head was filled with the first-time mom images. Perfect breast-feeding sessions and story times and cuddling and Mary Cassatt-like moments. There is nothing like being a first-time mom. The excitement and non-stop reading like it was a test you would be given on your due date. The advice and knowing smiles from the pros. The sisterhood that comes to the rescue if you say the word.

Because we all know what it’s really like: The Good, The Great, and The Ugly.

I kept my rocking chair after Noah died in a swimming pool accident at 2 years old. I’m not sure why. After all, we even got rid of our couch because that was too hard to look at – let alone sit on – without him.

The rocking chair came with us to our next childless apartment. It stayed in the corner in the front sunroom across from where Noah’s guinea pigs played in their cage. They didn’t seem to know he was gone. There was usually one or both of our cats curled up in the seat, almost like place savers…

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