Last night I sat in the deep darkness, sound machine emitting a soothing white noise, and the back and forth sway of the rocking recliner swiftly carrying my daughter and I on a journey to the kingdom of the sandman. She squirmed in my lap, a lap that was quickly becoming more crowded, and finally settled after finding a position of comfort.
Back and forth, back and forth I rocked in rhythm to the beating of our two hearts as I breathed in the beautiful aroma of my baby’s blond curls.
My baby?
I realized then as we lulled into dreamland together that the drawing of a close to our rocking ritual came ever more near, and it hurt my heart a bit to acknowledge that my baby would soon no longer be the baby. She would be more.
A big sister.
It had been on the edges of my mind for some time now, but as my belly swelled larger with baby number three I could no longer ignore the fact that my sweet, youngest daughter was growing like a weed. The petite, fragile baby of the family was getting taller, thinner in the torso, and taking on the features of a child rather than a toddler.
My baby was no longer the baby.
Now she was a big girl, and the soon to arrive newborn definitely seemed set on firmly sealing that deal as I felt her roll and kick, trying to push big sister off her territory. I knew that soon the nighttime rocking we both enjoyed would change as the new baby took over more of my time.
I pulled my daughter closer then, if that was even possible, and I savored the feeling of her body against mine. A body that was getting longer, leaner, and quicker to jump down to run and play. She was a baby who had learned to speak fluently all her needs, to convey her flourishing thoughts, and challenge my direction with an argumentative stance.
She was a baby who could dress and undress herself, and more commonly than not loudly proclaimed, “I can do it myself!”
I knew then, if I had ever swept it under my thought rug before, that my baby was no longer the baby of the family, but I still smiled in the quiet darkness because I also knew this. I knew my baby, no matter how big, she would always be.
Our rocking days may become fewer and fewer, and her legs might become longer and longer, but forever and ever my baby she would be.
I sat in the still darkness, white noise filling the air, and I swayed back and forth, taking my time to enjoy every passing breath and every single moment that she remained the baby of the family, not just the baby in my heart.
If time has taught me anything it’s that it passes quickly. Chubby, crying infants become precocious toddlers, and then they transition into lovely, long-legged ladies. So rather than thinking too much about that, instead I rocked. I smelled her hair, kissed her forehead, and simply enjoyed my baby.