The Book of Ruth Chapter 15: It's me, hi.

I’m at the end of my rope. And I think my rope’s pretty long. I’m good at keeping my cool. It’s been three hours of screaming after weeks of mid-night bouts of shouting. ‘Mommy!!!!! MAMMA!!!!! MAMMMMMMYYYYY!!!!’ she wails as if my hand isn’t on the small of her back. I’m hunched over the crib. My hand placed just so. The way she likes it. She can see me hovering above her. My lower back is screaming almost as loudly as she is.

I’m shushing her a bit more vigorously than I’d like. More a command than a comfort. “It’s too early in the morning, Ruth…..you have to try and sleep.” “I’m right here.” “What’s bothering you, baby?”. Thomas is exhausted and cranky. I’m exhausted and cranky. Ruth is inconsolable. It’s been three and a half hours of this.

During the day she’s been pushing me away more and more. She craves her aunt’s hugs. Her dad’s attention. And this is a good thing for a baby who had stranger danger until she started walking at 18 months. I don’t question her independence until we stumble upon a night like this. In my most sleep-deprived moments I question everything. In the moments where the only thing that soothes her, being held and rocked, can’t go on all night. Isn’t that what moms do? Quickly comfort their kids then get them back on track? Can everyone do this but me? I feel futile.

When we’re in this dance, I feel like my love is a suffocating tango. So I dip deeper. Dig my heels in harder. Give more. I’m a well that can’t leave well enough alone. So, I throw the bucket back down again without realizing there’s such thing as water poisoning.

She finally winds down and drifts off to sleep. I still don’t know what woke her and kept her awake for most of the night. Am I paying attention to the wrong things? Is this normal? Is she worried I’m not there for her? I only know my toddler so I have nothing to compare her to. For me, this is the hardest part of parenthood. The not knowing.

I think about the neighbourhood mom who recently confessed how hard she finds it. Mothering. She feels like I’m having the best experience ever. But it’s bringing up so much for her. I apologize and assure her I‘m building the plane while I fly it. I cringe at the idea that I might be toxic positivity-ing all over the place. I do find it so genuinely joyful but maybe that’s because the contrast is so stark. The highs are so high and the lows are so lonely. Nights like these where I just don’t know what to do. Where I don’t know how to be sturdy enough for both of us.

I think of my other friend whose son is the same age as Ruth. She said the beginning was so hard but she’s found her footing now. She trusts herself as a mom. I’m not as certain. It ebbs and flows.

She finally drifts off to sleep.

Thomas and I apologize for our snippiness. We talk about what could be causing all this. Our diagnosis is inconclusive.

I feel like I need to leave. Get out of the house. I’m inside these walls so much these days. I work from home. I parent from home. I Brisket from home. “I’m going for a drive. I’m not going to fall asleep like this.” My nervous system’s boogeying. I never let myself shout. Or lose my cool. It all stays inside coiling through my body. The pit in my stomach churns. Just like it has since I was Ruth’s age.

I grab the keys, kiss Brisket’s snout, and crank the car seat heater up to the max the moment I get inside. Late September means crisp nights and I’m not in a place to embrace the cold. I want to curl up in a ball. Find some comfort, warmth for myself. I drive.

There isn’t a lot going on at 4:48 AM. I ride past the experimental farm. Carleton’s Dunton tower blinks. A beacon from my school days. A fluorescent glow hovers across the horizon. The farm’s greenhouses welcome me with their amber glow.

There’s movement in the penthouse of a high rise on Preston. A shadow dances across the windows. It catches my bleary eyes. I look up at the incredibly high ceilings as the shadow grows. A figure appears in the glass. I wonder what’s keeping someone so high up awake? I drive down Preston but make a u-turn and idle by Dow’s Lake. I sit and watch for a few more moments. Like a moth to a flame.

I drive by Elgin Street Diner and consider grabbing a poutine. I don't.

I'm not sure what I’m looking for.

I finally feel sleepy. I thank the city for keeping me company. I make my way home. Brisket greets me despite his own exhaustion. I kiss his snout and tell him he’s a good boy. I hope he knows just how good. I curl up in bed and finally fall asleep.

I’m awoken by a hard thwack to my back. “Shh Mommy! Blankey on!” her little hands pat my back like I’m a ball of dough. Her eyes sparkle. She’s a different child. Happy, ready to take on the day. “Okay Ruth, time for daycare,” Thomas instructs. “Mommy coming, too?” she asks. I brush her cheek and roll out of bed.