Ruthie Grows

Ruth Mathewes was born December 7, 2007 at 11 AM. 5 lbs, 12 oz., 19" long. Dark hair and dark blue eyes--sure to change!

Everything started around 1 AM. Stephen and I hadn't been in bed that long, and suddenly I realized that my contractions were starting to feel a little less like tightening and a little more like menstrual cramps. They were coming quickly, and so after a few came and went, I woke up Stephen and asked him to start timing them.

5 minutes apart, at least a minute long, they continued steadily while we lay there. We got up, puttered around for a bit. We snacked on cheese and crackers and talked between contractions. It was exciting, but we didn't want to jump in the car right away if it was a false alarm. So Steve put on some Monty Python, and I sat squatted in front of the television surrounded by pillows.

After awhile, we thought it would be good if we got in the shower--the hot water would help me relax and maybe even speed things along. So Steve ran the water and in we went--it was delightful, and definitely helped. We dried off and kept watching TV until we decided, "This is probably it."

A call to the doctor confirmed that it yes, indeed it was time to go, and so we packed up the car, called our friend Amy (who was coming to assist as a doula), and headed over.

Ruthie is asleep in a baby sling, wrapped tightly next to my chest. It's how she sleeps best.

After a few weeks of what felt like blissful happy social engagement, Ruu seems to have reverted to her prior stage of avoiding eye contact (while eagerly looking at every interesting thing in sight), smiling less, sleeping more erratically, and being generally more cranky.

The past few days have been a bit of a strain. Ruthie only wakes up once (around 2 AM) for her nightly feeding, and so logically (or so I tell myself), I should be on the gravy train. Yet in the back of my mind mumbles the suspicion that she's drinking more at each feeding, and therefore taking a lot more of my energy. The reason? I'm inexplicably hungry ALL THE TIME (I've already had three full meals today, as of 4 PM), and RIDICULOUSLY TIRED (though I'm getting fairly decent stretches of sleep at night).

It's gotten to the point where I'm not sure what constitutes Ruth News anymore, since everything she does FASCINATES me. All I know for absolute certainty is this: I love my daughter, deeply and completely.

There's really nothing like this romance and intimacy. Like marriage, it's a unique bond formed by hormones, time, will, and emotions. There is so much touch, so many hours, and so much effort put into the relationship that I can't help myself: I'll jump in front of a train for her.

It's been quite awhile since I've written about Ruth, so here I go!

Tomorrow, I start teaching photography at Park Camps. It's a day camp, and the session I teach will last for three weeks. While I'm teaching, I have to leave Ruth behind.

Ruth turns one today.

A year ago, I became a first-time mom. A squealing little five pound bundle was handed to me, and I got lost in a whole new world.

Today, Ruth turns one. She's walking, jabbering, interacting, giggling--her own little miracle of a person.

Today I am lucky to be her mom. I am lucky to have her in my life. Who knows what other worlds-within-persons I may get to meet as time goes on.

The road ahead is hard but beautiful and full of love.

Ruth, happy birthday!

More teeth are in the works. New techniques are developing for fighting naps and sleep. Words are beginning to form. Feedings are getting easy, if messy, since Ruth often insists on feeding herself. The appetite is growing, and she is always in need of an audience.

What a difference a good night's sleep makes.

The biggest drama of our lives in the past year has always been sleep. Getting Ruth to sleep through the night, at its various stages, has had its triumphs and setbacks. Now that she's 13 months old, it's reaching a tenuous place; right between genuine psychological need, and the beginning stages of--dare I say it--brattyness.

Nights in which I wake up once (due to pregnancy thirst), or twice (just listening to a whimper or two) are still common. Sometimes, however, we are plagued with nights of crying, crying, and crying. We're still out on the futon in the living room most nights; it seems as though Ruth has a sixth sense for when we're in the bedroom (which is when she can persist in getting us up).

It feels cruel to leave her there. Her frantic voice still breaks my heart. But what I think I've learned is my waffling & heartsickness have probably made things more confusing and complicated for her. It's hard to push my conflicted feelings away and be consistent.

Regardless, there is a light at the end of the tunnel. As Meg counseled me last night, she won't be 13 and still waking up at night.

The coming year will be a challenge; I imagine that in the first three months after #2 comes along, I'll feel even more a zombie than I did after Ruth arrived. But at least I'm experienced at it. All I've got to do is put a few folks on speed dial for those days when I'm barely human and losing it.

Maybe I'll publish a book after all my children are grown. I'll call it Adventures in Sleep: One Bleary-Eyed Mom's Epic Story.

When it comes to how tidy the house is, I'm definitely a lot more laid back now than I was about six months ago.

That's not saying much, though.

Living in a one-bedroom apartment means that if anything is out of place, it is an intrusion. Anything unnecessary, unused, or uncared for sticks out like a sore thumb. When things aren't put away, I feel as though a parallel messy universe exists in my brain; things must be tidy in order for me to think straight!

However, I'm slowly but surely creating a mental filter for toys. Ruth's toys, I tell myself, are not my mess, because they are generated by her business. Ruth's business is that of play and discovery, and my businesses is that of photography, and running the home. They both generate different sorts of messes: mine on my hard drive and in the kitchen, hers, well, nearly everywhere else.

So each morning, Ruth's business creates a minefield all around the apartment (except the kitchen and bathroom, which I quarantine with baby gates and feel should be treated as Different Adult Spaces in which Necessary Vital Things must occur and so Children's Messes Should Not Be In There. The bedroom? Trashed. The living room? Destroyed.

Every night, after Ruth goes to bed, I gather up all the toys, and put them all into a large laundry basket I have in the living room. I barely bother to sort them nowadays, reserving that as a once-in-awhile kind of activity. It usually happens when I realize that Ruth can't put her puzzles together because all the pieces have sunk back to the bottom of the basket where she can't reach.

Cute Ikea toy organizers where things are labeled? Please, I'm saving that for grade school when she can actually read or recognize a picture label.

It is nice to think that in less than a decade, I will be able to communicate to my child that it is important to clean up after one's self. We'll see how that goes.

Nursing is on the rise. Towards the end of December, we were down to once a day. Today, it's back up to three or four. I'm not too nervous about it; I will get nervous, however, if she doesn't decide to stop on her own soon. I'm all for breastfeeding, don't get me wrong, but tandem nursing is not something I'll be up for right after moving to a new place.

With the rise of nursing is the rise of mommy-exclusivity. Holding, playing, eating, bathing, bedtime; it's all for mommy to do. This makes it painful, sometimes, when Steve takes his turn with her. She whimpers for me, but goes along with it. Sometimes, though, she cries. I know that this, like other clingy phases, will pass soon, and she'll be on to something new. I may miss it sometime; she'll wave a cheery goodbye without looking back, and I'll long for the day when she tentatively clung to my legs.

That must be a weird subject line for y'all to see, but here's why...

This morning, while playing with crayons and paper in the living room, Ruth got a paper cut on her toe. It bled pretty badly (though she didn't care), so I ran to get some antibacterial ointment, a cotton swab, a band-aid and a pair of socks (so the band-aid would stay on her toe). As I wrestled with her to get the band-aid on and all, she picked up the cotton swab, and proceeded to try to stick it in her ear.

She must have figured out that we use those safety cotton swabs for her ears in the bath, and so that's what they're for! Of course, she has no idea that sticking them in her ear is a bad idea, so no cotton swabs for her anywhere anytime ever!

Is a 14-month old supposed to know all this, or am I legitimately astounded?

Also, we've taken the knobs off the stove, since she can reach and turn them now. I'm in the habit of getting one out of the drawer, turning on the burner, then taking it off again and setting it on the counter so Ruth can't fiddle with the stovetop. Yesterday I knocked one over on the floor, and Ruth proceeded to pick it up and try to put it back on the stove so she could turn it. Luckily she's not coordinated enough to actually get the knob back on.

This girl is dangerous!

Ruth freaked me out yesterday--a high fever, lethargy, rapid breathing... needless to say I made an emergency visit to the pediatrician, who told me to give her ibuprofen and keep an eye on her, calling should complications arise. She perked up in the evening, which put me at ease. Then, she woke in the middle of the night burning up and crying hysterically, which brought me back down into Worry Town.

Today, she's been consistently clingy, moody, whiny, tired, fussy, all that wonderful stuff. She eats, but in a limited amount, and drinks well. I think she'll be on the mend tomorrow, but I'm not sure my sanity can stand another day of velcro baby. I've gotten as near to zero things accomplished as ever, and I have clients waiting for me. Of course, I can't really hire a babysitter for a sick child; why would I want the babysitter to spread germs to all the other kids?

I'm hanging in there; it's nice that Steve comes home and immediately knows I've had a long day. I just wish that Ruth were okay with giving me a break. The sicker she is, the more mommy-centric she gets, which eats at Steve's morale and exhausts me, of course.

But those back rubs sure do help.

It's official: my daughter is now officially All Grown Up. Over a week ago, she stopped nursing, cold turkey.

I breastfed her nearly exclusively for the first 6 months of her life, and never expected it all to last as long as 14 months. I'm not sure what I expected, honestly. My big plan was that if she could ask for it with words, we'd stop.

That never happened. Towards the end, she was nursing just once a day, in the mornings. And what people have told me is true: in spite of the headaches that came with it, I kind of miss it now.

She really is a totally different kid now!

I just bought a harness for my toddler.

My reasons? Plenty. Ruth has absolutely no fear, the propensity to run, a love of exploration, an unfettered determination. She simply does not care how far away she gets from me, will not listen to my verbal or physical commands, and will put herself into physical danger without a thought. One day I caught her standing on her father's desk, four feet above the floor. In the mall, she tried to go up the down escalator while I was running after her. She'll think nothing of trying to jump off a series of concrete steps, either.

I can chase and command her a dozen times over (believe me, I've counted), and it won't make a lick of difference. At 15 months, both "time-outs" and even a light slap on the hand (if the infraction involves fire or electricity) aren't guaranteed to curb her enthusiasm for discovery.

I never made the decision that I wouldn't ever use a harness or leash under any circumstance. I vaguely remember being harnessed as a child, and distinctly remember that my brother Kevin was harnessed whenever we went to the grocery store with my mother, and on other public outing occasions.

(Kevin was notorious for disappearing and hiding in department stores, too. You never really knew what he was going to think up next. In one famous family episode, he took off on his tricycle a few blocks down our street to "look for me," while I was visiting a friend's house. That was the only time I ever heard my mother swear.)

As a result of this, using a harness on a child was a normal possibility for my future. I don't feel that using a harness means you're treating the child like an animal. Most of all, using one does not mean that you're too lazy to parent your child.

Therefore when I went searching for a toddler harness (or leash), I found myself indignant and surprised at the negative reactions that some parents have to them. I got angry, even, and occasionally scoffed out loud.

I realize that with regard to many parenting issues, you're going to find people at extremes; debate can be productive and thought-provoking. Sharing stories, pros, and cons can help people come to their own decisions on an issue. I just didn't think this was an issue where you would find that much debate. For me, it's an "Well, if you need it," issue, to be dismissed with a shrug.

So if any of these vehement anti-leash anti-harness parents confront me in public about it, that's what I'll do.

I don't plan on using it all the time. She's only one kid, and there are plenty of times when the stroller is tolerable, or when I can chase after her. She's gotten wise to being careful stairs, after much instruction and one incident of falling. Certainly there will come a day when everything I'm trying to do will click.

The days will also come when I am too large and pregnant, or too encumbered by a newborn and all his gear, that I just won't be able to chase her down if she tries to run into traffic, or some other horrifying scenario.

And that's why it's okay to harness your toddler.