The Chair

Tonight, as any other night, we got Charlotte ready for bed. We put on her jammies, brushed her teeth, and read her her stories. As I approached her crib, tears filled her eyes. "Sing songs in the chair, mama." So we grabbed a paci, and taggie, and snuggled into our beloved rocking chair. The chair that I sat in, hugely pregnant, and day dreamed about my soon-to-arrive baby girl. The chair that, in those first weeks, I spent 8 hours a day nursing. The chair that I slept in when her fever spiked above 103. The chair.

Tonight, as she melted into my body, her breathing becoming heavy, her arms limp; my heart overflowed with emotion. Now, it was my turn for tears. Tears of gratitude, and honor, and love.

Love is such a vulnerable state. I wanted to sit in that chair forever. To hold my baby girl as close to my heart as I could. To keep her safe physically and emotionally for the rest of her life.

I rocked and cried and rocked some more. I thanked God for the incredible gift, and I kissed her sweet, sleepy head. As I lifted her into her crib, and tucked her blankets in, she pulled out her paci and whispered, "I love you, mama."

And my heart was full.