Legends of the Rocking Gods

After Claire was born, Danielle and the baby spent four days in a post-delivery pseudo-hotel room at the hospital.  In this particular wing, there are many rooms but only two rocking chairs.  This seems dumb to me.  But, you know, health care these days.  I bet they don’t have any in Slovenia.  Anyway. 
 
You have to fight, fight for your right to a rocking chair.  Unbeknownst to me at the time, my dad went out, tracked down a rocking chair and liberated it on behalf of room 167.  Due to this, we were in possession of a rocking chair for four out of four days.
 

Rock on.

Before the baby was born, Danielle’s dad hauled an unassembled rocking chair up four flights of stairs and spent the better part of an hour assembling it in front of a glass sliding door which had the sun beating down on it.  As a result, we were able to do our first feeding of the baby upon returning home in the comfort of a delightfully soft rocking chair.  At least, Danielle and the baby were.  I had to stand, fend off dogs that wanted to help and render assistance to Danielle.  Such is life.  We had to do some finger feedings for the first couple of days.

Rock on.

Claire agrees, in the classical sign language shared by all rockers alike:

 

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