When I woke up yesterday morning, shopping for furniture was not at all on my radar but within moments of my waking in the late morning (have I mentioned I have a fantastic husband that lets me sleep in on the weekends?) hour my children were chanting Daddy broke your chair! Daddy broke your chair! in gleeful voices. Apparently the old recliner that I have rocked 3 babies to sleep in finally sprung a spring and has nearly rocked its last rock.
Craig and I went shopping for furniture before we were married. Craig had a hand me down recliner that was wore thin but was still fantastically comfortable and another hand me down swivel rocker that was in good shape mostly but ungodly uncomfortable. We'd decided to take our combined tax returns and buy ourselves new chairs. As it turned out, the chair I chose for myself ended up being Craig's chair after we started having babies and it was much more comfortable to nurse and rock babies in the big La Z Boy. I can remember just how each of my babies fit in my lap in that emerald chair. I can see toddler Miss M eating a bowl of frozen peas, her 2-year-old body dwarfed in the voluptuous chair. I can feel my boy nursing and curled against me, sighing happily and we rock rhythmically off to dreamland. I can hear the clack clack of the chair signaling the need to shift it abruptly to the left so the clacking stops for several moments before the process needs repeating. I can feel D in my arms, my last baby, climbing into my lap and throwing her arms around my neck in the fiercest hugs I've ever received from such a tiny person.
It's just a chair. But it's helped me through many nights. It's where I slept after I had my c-sections when it was too difficult to get in and out of the bed. It's the first place I head with a crying child who has just suffered some sort of minor injury-whether to body or to pride. We rock together, often with a lovie, even at eight years old (without the lovie) the chair soothes injustices (along with a strong dose of Mommy or Daddy). The chair is at least 10 years old and has been used and abused. It has wear marks and tears and stains. It has served us well, probably better than it should have given the amount of use. Yes, I like to sit. A lot. And my butt can attest to that. (I'm starting the Shred today, btw.)
It's just a chair but it's the chair I nodded off in while a baby nuzzled my breast. It's the chair I sat in for months to pump milk for my first born child. It's the chair I've read countless books to my kids. It's the chair I watched LOST in. I've laughed, I've cried, I've napped...all in this chair.
It's just a chair. It's just a chair.