Squeak, squeak

I can hear the squeak, squeak, squeak of the rocking chair. My husband’s rocking our daughter to sleep, and the rocker’s got a squeak. Sitting in the darkened room, sipping on a bottle, tucked into dad’s arm: that’s how she goes to sleep most nights. I know she’s finally dropped off when the chair stops squeaking. She’ll need to take a can of WD-40 to work with her, when she’s old enough to have a desk job. Any chair that squeaks is apt to put her right out.

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