When our daughter turned a month old, my grandmother flew in from about two thousand miles away to see her great-grandchild. One afternoon, the baby started crying loudly and wouldn’t calm down despite feeding and rocking. This is when the real expert stepped in. Grandma took the baby firmly and started rocking her energetically up and down, singing a song—one I remember from my childhood, perhaps even from her mother. “You’re my sweetheart, you’re my darling, oh lullaby, oh lullaby, rock my baby bye-bye,” she sang, repeating with variations. I can still recall every sound, every intonation. By that time, of course, we were already exhausted from the nightly awakenings and the usual newborn whirlwind, always desperate for sleep. As our daughter began to settle down, I thought I’d take the opportunity to lie down and perhaps get a little nap, while Grandma kept singing.
A few minutes later, my husband joined me, lying down and immediately falling asleep. Then our son, who was almost ten and never napped during the day, came along. He decisively squeezed in between us and soon succumbed to the spell of “oh lullaby, oh lullaby…” We all slept soundly through the afternoon, deeply rested. It’s one of my happiest memories—us all sleeping in a heap, under Grandma’s voice, surrendering sweetly to its power, trusting it fully, and with every part of me feeling peace and protection.
