Ruthie Ann Miles Instagram – Part Five.
When I was 2 weeks postpartum Clint called to say I’d be wearing a bathing suit.
Abby was just over a month old when we started rehearsals at the Public – incidentally the same month when we shot Annie Leibovitz’ Vogue piece. And NYMag. I was so bloated and full to bursting.
I could barely walk to the subway. I cried so much, so often. Everything hurt. (I cursed Korins’ Hypnobirthing.)
The worst was I was barely sleeping. I pumped milk every two hours in the bathroom where everyone did their business b/c there was no open dressing room yet. Eventually one opened up & I brought in a playpen so Abby could nap & spend her days with me. It was the greatest, greatest gift.
From utero she knew the songs. She sang them, danced to them, played them on piano (and xylophone. Don’t gift toddlers xylophones), sometimes even let me harmonize with her.
SevenYears was her midnight bathroom lullaby. She watched anything where David was dancing. (She loved his music, but mostly his dancing.) I have more videos than I care to count of Abby singing our songs – because she listened to the show every day thru the monitors. In her bones.
Between shows George and Jeigh zoomed her around in laundry baskets. Airplanes. Rollercoasters. We ate a lot of Library fries. I put too much Oregano Oil into Conrad’s mouth. Sorry about that.
Justin told me stories about Sharon Jones.
Every professional or production photo was taken when I was within 100 days of giving birth. Posterity photos are forever. I’ve learned to be less critical of them, but my vanity does sometimes makes me look away. | Posted on 27/Nov/2023 14:17:25
