An Heirloom in our Midst

As I sat rocking Brooklyn last night at 3 am,  a loud “CREAAAAK!” sounded throughout the quiet night air.  I cringed, mostly because it startled her, but also because I am always worried about waking Wyatt up in the middle of the night. The creaking noise came from our rocking chair in the nursery. My instant annoyance quickly turns to acceptance when I remember that this chair I rock our babies in is close to 100 years old.  This chair rocked my grandfather to sleep as an infant, then my mom and aunts, and now my children.

When my grandparents moved out of their home about 4 years ago, Chris and I “inherited” this old rocking chair.   It was perfect timing – we were expecting Wyatt later that year.  I remember thinking, “It’s not exactly what I wanted for the nursery, but it was my great-grandparents, so that’s cool. Plus it will save us some money from having to buy a new one.”  When we got it, it was a mauve color and the upholstery was pretty worn, so we decided to have it reupholstered. I picked out the material and the guy told is it would be done in a few weeks. He called later to give me an estimate. $750. WHAT? This is not saving us money at all?! Thanks mom and dad for splitting the bill with us!

Despite the random creaking (which I must add, for a 100 year old chair, it doesn’t creak a lot. When it starts to get more squeaky than usual, I give it a good spray with some WD40 and Viola! Problem solved.), it is a really good rocking chair. I already have some fond memories with this chair. I clearly remember just where it sat my entire childhood at my grandparent’s home in Watertown, SD. It was at the top of the stairs going to the second level of their home. I remember sitting in this chair as a child, looking through grandma’s pictures and collectibles. I remember as a teenager rocking in this chair, reading a book,  while the guys watched football down the stairs.

Now, in my own home, the chair has become a significant part of Wyatt’s room, and more recently, Brooklyn’s nursery. Although Wyatt never loved being rocked as an infant, I did spend many hours in that chair for late night feedings, and afternoon naps. When I was struggling with breastfeeding Wyatt, it was this chair I was sitting in when I had my “breakdown”. Wyatt would not latch on and was hungry starving. He wouldn’t quit crying and I started bawling and shaking so hard Chris came in, quietly took the baby out of my arms and left the room. I composed myself rocking in this chair.

When Wyatt was almost 2 years old, he decided that he wanted to be rocked to sleep before bed. It never really put him to sleep, and the phase only lasted about a month. But this is one of my favorite memories of me and Wyatt, rocking in the chair at night, singing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and You are my Sunshine. “Sunshine song again, mommy,” he would whisper in my ear.

One morning about 6 months ago, I went to wake Wyatt up for school and he was not in his bed. I panicked for a slight second, until I realized he was curled up in the rocking chair with his blankie. When I turned on the light, he had thrown up all over the room, and the chair is where he chose to spend the night when he had been sick. Instead of calling for mom or dad, or coming into our bedroom, he snuggled into the 100 year old chair.

When Brooklyn first came home, I was nursing her in this chair when Wyatt made the “Baby Brookin eats mommy’s body” comment. This is one memory I will not soon forget.  This is the chair I feed Brooklyn in and rock her to sleep every night.

And although it lets out an occasional “CREAAAAK” in the middle of the night, I think it is so special to own something that has been passed down through so many generations. I can honestly say I don’t think anything I have bought in my 29 years of life will still be around for my great grandchildren to use. The quality and craftsmanship was so different back then. And even though it is not one of those fancy rocker/recliners you drool over in designer nurseries, I am much happier owning this great piece of my history. An heirloom at that.

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