Ruthie is six months this week. (Ruthie, my daughter, not Ruthie my sister or Ruthie my aunt. )
She’s still stunned at her life.
As we’ve neared this somewhat (very) artificial milestone, I’ve been gearing up into panic mode. She can’t be six months. Not because I don’t want her to grow, but because something in me says that I should feel more normal, capable and victorious by now.
But, instead, I just want to sit, eyes shut, in the sunshine and eat donuts. And that’s what I wanted six months ago too…(Donuts are one of the easier foods to eat with your eyes shut)
Is this the Womanhood of which our Mothers spoke? THIS?
The above picture was taken by these two tricksters:
When I was trying to wrestle (literally) Leila down for her nap, I put them in charge of Ruthie. They had strict instructions to entertain her, but DO NOT remove her from the swing. So they surrounded her with props and filmed a Disney Short Animated Film on my phone. It’s a poignant work. She will never be normal.
She doesn’t care though. She just wants to be like her sisters.
This week is Easter. The girls have beautiful dresses from their grandmother and one of these mornings I will visit the Local TJ Maxx to find something to wear or at least a patent leather purse and some new Jellies. Childhood formation is hard to shake isn’t it? The pressure to look beautiful and new and ironed on Easter – Where does it come from? The Industrial Revolution? That New Cinderella Movie about courage, kindness, and Really Small Waists? Let’s recount the emotions of those First Easter Celebrants: terror, sadness, confusion, terror, relief, joy, confusion, joy. Not much room in there for floral print, but tradition is tradition and who am I to protest a new dress?
Next week we load up and head out on vacation. So basically we are going to take this whole dicey operation and move it into another state for a week. Wake me when we get there. My hope? Sunshine, warmth, open-toes, and the chance to slow down and really see these people.
“See me Mommy! See Me!” Leila was just shouting this from me as she swung in the Johnny Jump Up (an infant apparatus) like a bungee swing from the dining room to the kitchen. My brain is foggy and my emotions are shaky, even at this Grand Six Month Benchmark. This results in blurred vision and Jerk Mom yelling all around. “STOP EATING THE KITCHEN IS CLOSED. NO EATING UNTIL TOMORROW. NO TALKING TO OR LOOKING AT EACH OTHER. EVER AGAIN.” Don’t you want to live here?
I plan on seeing next week. Seeing… and reading. If I have to strap all of these people to my body and take long walks on the beach to do it. (Book recommendations welcome!)
Hope you find some space to see and listen this week. Even if means forgoing some tempting florals…