When our daughter was a month old, my grandmother flew in from 2,000 miles away to see her great-granddaughter. One afternoon, the baby started crying loudly; feeding and rocking her didn’t help at all. That’s when the real expert stepped in. Grandma picked up the baby firmly and began to rock her up and down with energy, singing the song I remember from my childhood, perhaps made up by her or her own mother: “You’re my little darling, you’re my little sweetheart. Rock-a-bye, rock-a-bye, my lovely baby,” repeating with variations.
I can still recall every sound and intonation. By then, we were naturally exhausted from nighttime awakenings and the usual whirlwind that comes with a newborn. Sleep was a constant longing. As our daughter began to quiet, I thought I’d rest a bit and maybe catch a little nap. But Grandma kept singing.
Five minutes later, my husband came in, lay down next to me, and instantly fell asleep. Then our son, who was almost ten and never napped during the day, boldly squeezed in between us and went silent. Resisting that “rock-a-bye, rock-a-bye” was impossible.
We all slept until the evening, deeply and peacefully. It remains one of the happiest memories of my life, all of us sleeping in a heap, with Grandma’s voice washing over us, surrendering sweetly to it, trusting completely, feeling calm and protected down to every cell.
