I've spent hours rocking. Hours swaying with a limp, slightly sweaty baby on my shoulder. Hours given way to pure commune with the little miracle I helped create.
Rocking Pacey. Crying silent, painful tears into his sleeping ear. Telling him he was all that mattered. Because in those desperate moments, he was.
Rocking Gage. Feeling very small and lonely in our little beach house that wrapped us in a cocoon, that caught me as I fell.
There's a different kind of sadness now. A wistfulness, an already intense nostalgia at what will be finished all too quickly.
So I rock a little longer, hold this baby a little tighter, and linger next to her sweet breath.