Rocking

She's small, and better than ice cream, but don't be fooled. Lillie is a hurricane and a couple of tornadoes thrown together. With lightning and thunder follow-up. The only time she quiets down is at bedtime.

I've rocked her to sleep since she was only first born and haven't gone many nights without it. Now that she's gotten older, she accepts my plop into the rocker with a full embrace. She lays there in my arms, in her little flannel blanket envelope, gazing at me. She's calm for the first time, her little pointer finger poking her own cheeks and binky and playing with my bottom lip.

I just wait. Rock and wait.

She gets heavier and slower until her eyes flutter closed and she lays in my arms like a brick. Usually I place her in her crib shortly after, but some nights I give her more inspection.

Last night I stared at her chubby face, her whispy hair just starting to thicken. I watched her suck her binky and I traced the long line of her calf, down to her ankle and her rapidly growing feet. Her toes twitched and I wondered what she was dreaming about. I hope something wonderful.

These are the times I will always remember.