It was gold and it swiveled and rocked. I sat in it day after day after day after day. It was my own fault. Well his too. We had spoiled them and so they wouldn’t go to sleep unless you rocked them. They never wanted to go to sleep so you had to rock them for a long time, a really, really long time. So from the time he was born until finally when she turned about 3, I suppose, I rocked them. I rocked them to sleep for naps and I rocked them to sleep at night and because they often woke during the night I rocked them through the night.
It was early American and a hideous color of dirty beigy, brown. It was overstuffed and came with a large ottoman. It was perfect to read in or snuggle down with a hot cup of tea and everybody fought over it when we were watching TV.
It was brown, reclined, and rocked and we got it from a dead woman. It was ugly but very comfy and when Elli came to live with us and wouldn’t sleep I spent night after night after night rocking her – some people never learn.
It big enough for two (or more) to sit on and comes with a gynormous ottoman and pillows. Perfect for snuggling down in to watch TV or read or rest – I’ve even spent a night or two sleeping on it when Elli was fussy.
Seems the chairs in my life come in waves – rockers in chairs with ottomans out, and now the other way around.
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