By Pat Coskran, Santa Clarita Contributor
“Creak!” The rocking chair moans despite my best efforts to be quiet.
I glance down at my baby girl, Shannon, wrapped snuggly in her quilted, blue blanket on my lap. She slumbers peacefully, not waking to the wooden seat’s unwelcome sound.
The aging carpet in my living room is an unsightly brown shag, two years past expiration date. Its uneven texture makes smooth rocking a challenge, and gives me one more reason to replace it.
This is a special time for me. I slow my breathing, and focus on being with my little angel. My work schedule keeps me away from home more than I’d like, so these private moments with Shannon are more the exception than the rule.
I rock. Watching her tiny chest rise and fall, I listen to her rhythmic breathing. The scent of her breathe is sweet, an unexpected bonus for a new father. I synchronize my breathing to hers, drifting more deeply into this communal escape.
My wife, Linda, tip toes carefully around the corner from our bedroom. She tugs her fluffy pink robe ever tighter, and with a little shiver slowly settles on the arm of our blue denim couch.
“Are you okay out here with her?” she inquires. “I heard the rocker.”
As I reach to hold her hand, I say, “Perfect, now.”
We gaze at the sight of our creation. Now the three of us start the glide toward a peaceful shared moment.
“Creak!”
Shannon blinks open her tiny hazel eyes. A wail of displeasure issues forth from her toothless, cherub mouth.
So much for peace! New rocker and new carpet.
