The Book of Ruth Chapter 8.5: Sun Drenched

I’ve got a secret. Summer is not my favorite season. It’s not my time to shine. I know, I know but I swear I’m not just being contrary. Summer is a lot. It’s hot, loud, and full of expectations. At times, I feel like a kiddie pool that’s been left out in the sun too long. The colours a little faded, the plastic stretched ever so slightly from the heat. Sometimes the sun’s rays harm those of us with paper-thin skin. Its intensity a touch too much. Appetite, smaller. Energy, waning. Wistfulness, cranked as high as the A/C.

As I look at Ruth, I wonder if she’ll be a summer bug or a wintery owl like her mom. I wasn’t always this way. While heat exhaustion did always get to me eventually, I also remember the seemingly endless summer days of my childhood. Capture the flag. Mooney’s Bay. Friends that I knew would be around FOREVER. Watching clouds as the grass tickled my neck. That one’s a dragon, that one an ice cream cone, that one…a cloud! Days that lasted forever and seemed to end with the faint sound of music from a party blocks away that I would someday be invited to when I was old enough. The music carried on the summer breeze as I drifted off to sleep dreaming of what would be when I was older. Never quite in the moment. Hungry for what was next.

Now that I am. Older. Those parties are much much smaller than once anticipated. The days of new motherhood are like an eternal summer, joyful but endless in their own way. The 24-hourness of it all is very real and I hear the seconds ticking in the back of my mind like a faint metronome whispering ‘catch up’ in my ear. I can tell you what time it is morning, noon, and night without ever looking at a clock. It’s almost Ru’s first birthday. She’s starting to crawl and squirm all over the place. Our squirmy wormy. She babbles herself to sleep now instead of crying (thank fuck!). She beams and claps at Brisket as he enters the room. She is becoming. Her own Ruthiness shining through as bright as the sun on the day she was born almost a year ago. Her glow touches us all and I’m awed. As all parents are of these little humans who are discovering themselves in this imperfect world we brought them to. I push those realities, those thoughts from my mind for as long as I can ignore them. It’s never long enough.

As I try to contextualize my life, its story, and how to wander through it; I’ve discovered solace in the seasons. It makes perfect sense that Ruth was born in the summer. My most bitter-sweet season. Motherhood is very bitter-sweet. Excited for what’s next, mourning what’s already somehow behind?! As an adult, Summer has always been a time of struggle for me. For rebirth and change. And Ruth symbolizes all of that. With each ultra-determined step she takes, as I hold her underneath her arms chanting ‘step, step, step!’ I’m reminded to do the same. Move forward with her. Not spend too much time in the past. To take a big breath, just like her and charge forward blissfully unaware of what could go wrong. Take that big wobbly step even if I’m not sure it'll land.

I feel the heat getting to me. Even though it hasn’t gotten too hot yet. The summer air makes me feel unsettled. My stomach flips as if to warm me I'm missing out. I can't quite find my footing. Like that other shoe that’s always dangling, taunting me, will eventually drop. Any moment now.

As she approaches her first year, I’m reminded how incredible we are. Humans. I went to an ultrasound a couple of months ago and as they looked around my wonky uterus, they kept asking ‘and…was the baby okay?’. ‘She’s great!’. I kept saying. At first proud and eventually more reassuring as they kept asking.

Ruth reminds me that it’s possible. Whatever ’it’ is. Just like her, we can overcome the most challenging environments. The slightest of odds. The steamiest of summers. If we just keep putting one foot in front of the other. Baby steps.