I am sure I don’t have to tell you that babies like to be rocked to sleep. Hence, why people often buy rocking chairs for new mothers… for them to have the beautiful bonding moment of rocking their little darlings off into the astral plane. I love the idea of this, the imagery, the concept, but I have a serious problem. That rocking chair of misery makes me so motion sick I want to vomit out my intestinal wall.

I have tried everything to not have it viscerally effect me, but the intensity of my feelings of nausea have yet to subside. I try rocking with both my feet firmly planted on the ground… nope… still want to barf. I put them both up on the foot rest… yuck… puke… I try one foot up the other foot down, and I still want to hurl! I try with my eyes closed, open, winking… I have even contemplated finding a way to surgically remove my head and re-attaching it after all this rocking business is over and she is off in lala land dreaming of nipples and fists full of my hair.

The crazy thing is that I subject myself to this medieval torture device 3 times a day to get her to sleep because The Munch loves it!

I guess this is just one experience where I will sacrifice my discomfort for her joy. Wait… what was pregnancy… birth… breastfeeding… waking up every time she needs me too…. Sigh. Let me rephrase… I guess this rocking chair is just another reminder of many of how she is more important to me than my own physical duress.

Now, I am not advocating being a martyr, because then you will become one of those bitter psycho mom’s who collects human heads in her freezer. I know that I have to find a balance between her happiness and my own physical comfort, but I guess having a baby has just strengthened my tolerance.

(The disheveled quality of this picture echos my state of being)