On Saturday, we take apart the crib.  The crib that has been in my house since the day we moved in.  But life goes on and Luke is three, meaning it is more than time for him to be in his big boy bed.  But it's not just the crib that goes, it's the rocking chair that will find a new place somewhere in my house. This is the chair where I rocked and rocked and rocked sleepy babies, crying babies, where we shared some of our most special times.  Those middle of the night nursing sessions where we both fought for consciousness, where I held poor reflux ridden Grant for an extra 20 minutes after ever feeding in hopes to help him get some pain free sleep, where I dreamed of both of them sleeping through the night (10 months old for Grant, 8 months for Luke), where I realized how cold Massachusetts winters really are, watching the snow fall, where when I realized the time was coming to an end for middle of the night and early morning nursing time and desperately wanted to hold on to those moments for just a few more days, because though i was a mess all day at work, at 2:30 am, the street was quiet, the house was quiet, the whole world was quiet and it was just me and my sweet baby boy-the only two people in the world.  Luke still wakes up at least twice a week because he can't find blankie mixed in his crib with a thousand stuffed animals (seriously, it's like the Bronx Zoo in there!)  and though I hate jumping up and running down the hall, there is something seriously wonderful about being with him in the middle of the night, when it's still just us awake in the world and I'm the only one on earth who could fill his needs, just like those nights all those months ago when mama could sit in the rocking chair and make everything right with a little midnight snack and a snuggle.  So on Saturday, when the "PS" man comes and brings the big boy bed and the crib goes away forever I'll be sad, but excited for the joy a big boy bed will bring my littlest man.  But that rocking chair, that will stay in the house.  And we'll read books there, and let Pumpkin the worlds largest bear keep it warm for us.  We'll pull it out for visiting babies to have a snuggle in.  I'll tell the story of how it came to us from a dear friend in high school who was getting ready to leave for college and so her mother was selling her house and everything in it to travel the world.  As I loaded it into my car, she had a look of wistfulness in her eye and told me of her late nights rocking her only child in the chair on those cold Maine nights and telling her toddler stories of adventure and fun and caring and love.  She couldn't have imagined 15 year old Heather, who she taught with ease Algebra and with agony Geometry, someday rocking her two beautiful babies.  But old things have new lives and stories to tell and now this old chair has held generations of mothers and babies who are now adults thinking of children of their own and two little boys still filled with wonder and someday I hope the chair will have a new life of its own, perhaps as I rock my own granddaughters giving their weary parents a nights sleep.  Because life moves on and we're lucky for each and every moment in time and I'll do my best to remember each of these "magic moments".

My best friend Jeniffer shared this poem with me when our boys were younger and sleep came for us in shorter blocks and phone calls (and showers!) were even more rare.  And today as I think about sorting out and packing up the last time sticks with me...I'm rocking my babies and babies don't keep.  And neither do preschoolers and 1st graders!

"Babies Don’t Keep"

Mother, O Mother, come shake out your cloth,
Empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
Hang out the washing, make up the bed,
Sew on a button and butter the bread.

Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She’s up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I’ve grown as shiftless as Little Boy Blue,
Lullabye, rockabye, lullabye loo.
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
Pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo

The shopping’s not done and there’s nothing for stew
And out in the yard there’s a hullabaloo
But I’m playing Kanga and this is my Roo
Look! Aren’t his eyes the most wonderful hue?
Lullabye, rockaby lullabye loo.

The cleaning and scrubbing can wait till tomorrow
But children grow up as I’ve learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down cobwebs; Dust go to sleep!
I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep.

 Author: Ruth Hulburt Hamilton