The Rocking Chair.

Saturday night found H having a rough time going to sleep. While he's definitely no bedtime angel, he usually falls asleep in a short while after singing songs, kicking the wall and telling stories. But Saturday night, after being hyped up on Madagascar 2 (and the Cherry Coke that went with it) it was as if he was coming down from a high. Considering I don't really have any experience with street drugs, I think seeing my 2 year old on Cherry Coke is probably the closest I'll ever come to seeing someone on crack. It was that crazy.

But all that aside, there got to be a point where I realized that sleep was not going to come easily and I decided to try an old, but good bedtime method; the rocking chair.

My mom always said one can never be too old to rock with their mom and those are true, true words.

I picked up H from his bed and walked next door to the baby's room and sat in the rocker. And we rocked, and we rocked, and we rocked.

His body struggled to get comfortable atop my large belly and my large belly felt pangs of pain as he moved his body around. Elbows and knees jabbing here and there.

But it was the way that even though he's grown inches since we last rocked goodnight and even though my belly was large and not his first choice of a pillow, how amazing that we just fit together like mother and son. As if no time had passed since our last rock in that rocking chair. His arms comfortably find their place behind my neck with his fingers intertwined in my hair.

We adjust and move accordingly. As I lay his head down against my arm, I see his face, calm and ready to sleep and realize that there is something about this rocking chair and the relationship we share within it. No words are exchanged beyond the ones that don't need a voice to say.

Our eyes speak I love you's and our noses touch to say goodnight.

In the rocking chair, we are not a pregnant mama and a 2 1/2 year old free spirit child, we are simply mother and son and there is nothing but us in those moments.