There is a rhythmic pace to movement that is sound for the heart, mind, body, and spirit.
There can be a startle when movement shifts to a faster pace.
There can be uneasiness built to the sense movement has stopped.
Rocking my children to sleep had an art to it.
Perhaps I saw. Perhaps I watched. Or, perhaps I subconsciously remembered how it felt to be rocked or cradled.
Perhaps, the child in my arms controlled my every motion, hearing their heartbeat when I placed myself close to their chest, feeling their warmth, inhaling their peaceful breathing.
Perhaps the child conducted my very movement, my speed, my swaying, orchestrated by that sixth sense only a mother once connected to the child can understand.
Nonetheless, the goal was always to keep the child peacefully asleep without disruption.
The repetitive and yet, always celebrated achievement to finally place the child down to sleep on their own so tasks could be tended to, started way before the closing of the eyes of the child even begun.
There was the mental pre-planning of what would need to be done once the child was placed down for rest.
There was also that warm bath prepared, lotion, baby powder, and clothing laid out to create best comfort for the child prior to the swaddling and soothing.
There were several process of elimination of priorities, accepting realities in the mind of what could be done while the child slept- selected quiet work that would not dare risk waking the child.
When the child sleeps, the one who rocks the cradle most often takes no same luxury.
Placing the child down to sleep may suggest the same for the mother but these times are best to actually get work done that had been placed aside when the child was busily awake.
There enters this fear within whereupon a mother becomes unaware and something regretful could occur.
On guard, a mother remains, even more vigilant than when the child was awake.
That watch. The heart leads the mind which leads the spirit to dictate the body.
All stand guard.
There may be peace for the moment, sometimes longer than hoped, sometimes shorter. Within the peace, all stand attention to any risk of disruption or harm.
Peace for the moment only for the child to not be awakened so that the parental senses may take some time to address all else.
Still, while other matters and tasks are addressed, the alertness and awareness of the child at rest relentlessly stands in the back of the mind.
The child, always to be guarded upon times when awake or asleep, never to be forgotten or ignored.
During times of movement to do what can be done, distance from the child is within short range, certain to be right there to quickly return to the child, if needed.
As the child depends, the one who rocks the cradle must make certain trust isn’t broken.
When the child needs, the one who rocks the cradle returns to provide.
This is that unspoken knowing. The silent oath from the moment the mother looked down upon the child.
We must protect this one created, understanding best the developing care and handling.
Only if a mother can no longer provide such care or voluntarily surrenders such priceless duty should another readily take over for the continued development and safety of the child.
The mother, relentlessly holding onto her given duty.
After all, if cradled by another, is the child guaranteed same care, protection, and safety?
Until the child arrives to believe they are able to handle the world, the child’s world must be handled by the cradler.
And, yet, is the child truly aware of what awaits?
Is the child truly ready even if believed?
Is a good child foundationally cultured impenetrable from wrongful influences?
When one should suggest to take over, thinking to take it from a point during development, is the developing child safe from shift of thought or doing?
New hands. New rhythm. Conditions, plans, rules, and expectations inevitably could change for the child’s future.
How will the child ever know the difference between?
One’s rhythmic movement- different from another. A lullaby sung- absent- replaced by another one’s selection of choice.
The warmth changes. The heartbeats felt next to the child, a different pace; frequencies and wavelengths- different.
In the exchange of hands rocking the cradle, confusion within the make-up of the child arises.
Whose hold to trust? Whose voice to know? Whose care is real?
When a child, too young to fully know and understand reason of intent, must decide who to trust, it is from the hold, the warmth, and the feel of touch that thinks to fulfill all senses.
Warmth and comfort, deceptive to the innocent, trusting to have no harm intended or done.
It is only a little while longer before the child begins to understand truth of intent to the care and attention received.
Solomon was brought two mothers in front of him, both claiming to be the mother of a newborn child.
As wisdom spoke from his lips, he suggested to cut the child in half so both could have an equal share of what would presumably be a lifeless child.
One agreed. The other surrendered the child to the other in plea to spare the child’s life.
Who therefore was the true mother?
There are most definitely those who have held credit and position to have rocked the cradle.
There have also been those wanting for so long to take over, seeing the creation already so beautiful.
Question is, upon troubles, who of all would love a child so much to let them go so that they may live?
There can be those taking claim for what has already been created, believing to do better for the child hereon, absent in the earliest sacrifices.
Then, there is that one who knew the child before the world even took a first look. Only the mother, knowing best to recall as far as the moment of conception.
Only the mother was given the magic of being connected with the child before the world could even see, cord to cord.
Only the mother recalls the first gaze, the first hold. There can be no replacement.
The oath to love, nurture, and care- only the mother understands such capacity.
Evil greed and selfishness could vow good intent for a child as far as to tearing them down to then take no fault if life were to be lost.
To have possession of a grand creation and yet, perhaps ill-equipped to help the child arrive to its fullest greatness.
One would rather risk to see a child destroyed than to stand back so it may become its greatest yet.
So, like Moses in a basket, placed afloat the Nile river, the mother trusts, hopes, endures with undying faith, even while knowing of treacherous rocks, reefs and heavy currents that may take the child down before it shall ever arrive to its greatest destiny.
You say nothing. You let go for now, watching from a distance, grateful that the child lives to see the world.
While the world shall reveal itself, slowly and surely, the mother stands her guard.
Quietly to herself she sings those lullabies once whispered into the child’s ears, dancing to the same rhythm and pace she recalls having done so many times as she held the child in her arms.
Cradling the child. The mother remembers.
