The Book of Ruth Chapter 12: Metamorphosis

“I’ll be right back to put you in your car seat. Mumma always comes back,” I reassure her before I leave. Karine holds her up to the window and she waves at me with a big smile plastered to her face. I put our things in the car just like I said. I’m getting more consistent with my words. I do what I say. She believes I’ll stick to my guns. I’m starting to believe the same. I choke back tears. They've been coming up a lot the past few weeks. The claws of change kept chasing me. And I knew I could only outrun them for so long. So I signed the papers. I start in May.

I knew Gary, the recruiter, was going to be part of my story when he told me he read the blog. He also said he loved my book (my portfolio). I hadn’t had external validation for my ad work in so long. It felt really nice to remember Ad Gabbie. “Are you going to publish?!”, he asked. I laugh and say, “this is just for me to sort my shit out, Gary! I’m always so shocked when people say they read it! “Huh, he says. “Something to think about.” He connects me with an agency looking for the ‘right’ fit. But that’s a story for another time.

Waves of emotion keep washing over me as I paddle with everything I’ve got. Trying to stay afloat and keep my toes out of the riptide. It’s coming for me no matter what I do. Change. That word grips me in my chest and squeezes. It used to make me feel like I would die, but now I know I can manage the discomfort. Or listen to it, at least. I always knew this chapter would come to an end. There’s no use denying the truth. Things are never going to be this way again. I turn to Thomas, “Did I do enough? Will it be enough? Am I…enough? Tell me she’s going to be okay.” He smiles. As he always does. And reassures me.

The last 20 months have been long. And short. They have ceased to make sense in the way we calculate time. This period of my life has changed how I see everything. I’ve changed. I have been changed. Forced to, so I can show up for her. I cocooned her in love and as much presence as I was capable of. Which at first was very little. I breathe. I tell myself I can only protect her from the world for so long. This is her story and I wanted the beginning to be sweet. Loving. Kind. I did what I could. Will it be enough? I have all the faith in the world in her. She falls hard but she always gets back up. Determined.

Things were not easy. Those fucking tears well up inside me every time I think of how scared she was whenever I’d leave the room for the first 18 months of her life. Separation anxiety? Maybe. Just Ruth figuring it out? Just Ruth watching to see if I could be sturdy enough to figure it out? Maybe. She didn’t want anyone to hold her. Not even us, really. But she didn’t want to be put down, either. She’d cry. Often. Even when I was holding onto her. I couldn’t always quite figure out why or how to soothe her. How she just didn’t seem into…anyone. I’d blame myself. Which only made things worse. “Oh…”other moms would brightly respond when I’d share my worries. Looking to them for reassurance that their babies wanted to be held extra close but not at all sometimes and could be tricky to settle, too. But as their eyes left mine to look at my shoulder, I’d quickly realize it was just us. Ruth and I. Figuring it out together. We weren’t like anyone else and we were just like everyone else, because we all have to figure each other out the old fashion way. By getting to know each other. Her evolving temperament vs. my fears and unsettled stomach. My gut always churning. So we kept at it.

She and I were not the easy fit. The sense of duty was always there but I didn’t know her. The love was there but the ease wasn’t. This bond is one that will be tied over a lifetime. Why did I think this part would be easy? Instantaneous? The true surprise was that I needed to get to know myself, first. Turns out I didn’t know her (me) that well, either. Becoming Ruth’s mom revealed so much.

The more we got to know each other the more I saw her. This girl is not going to hug on command or think her role is making other people feel good about themselves. She will not ignore her own instincts. My job isn’t to stop the crying or the big feelings, it's to tolerate the discomfort they stir in me and show up for her in the ways she needs. If I’m not scared of her feelings she won’t be either. Easier said than done. But we press on.

As soon as she started walking (at 18 months!), she started to loosen up a little. She started to let other people in. A little. I could see her independence grow. Her joy take root. Her curiosity blossom. I never thought she’d be cool with me leaving the room, but I do it all the time now. She will go play with others. Her trust that I’ll come back is new but hard earned.

And as soon as we get comfortable, bang! Change. She will move on. To daycare. To relationships outside our unit. To friends who don’t have tails. Who may bite more than Brisket and have less impulse control. To pain and love and joy. All the things I was so afraid to fully feel before getting to know her forced me to. It’s how I know she’s going to be okay. She's not afraid to feel.

I put all my worries about daycare onto her but if I’m honest, it’s me who’s scared. Who hasn’t weathered her heartbreaks very well. Who has let fear drive the bus many times. Instead of freaking out when our original daycare plan didn’t work out due to a clerical error, I decided to have faith. The oversight sent us on a hunt for a new spot two weeks after city registration began. When I had to tell my job I couldn’t come back, I said to myself what I say to Ruth, ‘it’s okay to be scared but also know it will be okay’. I thought the same thing when a new job opportunity arose just as we found a new spot at a new daycare. I said the same thing as I stood my ground on my start date, vacation needs, and more when negotiating the offer. As all the puzzle pieces fell into place, I took a deep breath. I allowed myself to feel the bigness of these choices. I realized how I’d started atuning my awareness to different things over the past 20 months. How this awareness allows me to dream different. Want different. Be different. I cannot control the world but I can compassionately guide myself to where things feel good. I can be scared, feel the fear, and move forward. And so can she.

I’m not scared about Ruth going to daycare. She’s so strong. Look at all she’s already overcome. I’m grieving. Mourning the end of our cocoon of love. We got so much done yet so much less than I’d hoped. This is the end of doing whatever we want, whenever we want. Being able to ask for hugs and tell her I love her any hour of the day. The end of wanting space from her but also embracing the Stockholm syndrome that is the early years with a deeply feeling baby. Mourning the push/pull of the sheer endurance of it all.

I am grieving. But as I’ve learned, I can feel all my feelings and not drown in them. So here we are in the last days of this beautiful cocoon. Ready to nibble our way out. Spread our wings. And hopefully, fly.