A/N: Sometimes I'll be going about my life and be smacked in the face with an abundance of Ruby feels. Apologies for this. MaYaD 'verse.

She is one week old. It's her first night in our house, and although you are fretting about how she'll sleep, you are preparing for bed. You're wearing sweatpants, the waistband still stretched from holding the two of you together through the night for the last few months. You take out your contacts, brush your teeth, and plait your hair.

I put Ruby in her pajamas. She wears a snug little onesie snapped between her legs that curl like a frog's and kick spontaneously as I zip her into a fuzzy pink pajama suit that is so big on her, it looks like she's bundled up to go out in an Ohio January. She's fussy, so you rush through your bedtime routine, knocking over your contact solution.

Once she's zipped up, I hover near you as I bounce her in my arms to soothe her, trying not to be obvious as I watch you, feeling with my eyes for pain or soreness in your body. You've been restless, sleeping only a few hours at a time, as mothers of newborns do. But it's beyond that; you can't go more than a few minutes without checking on her, making sure her skin is mellowing from its jaundiced yellow to a healthy pink tan, making sure her diaper is clean and dry, feeding her as often as possible to help her grow strong and healthy.

You take Ruby from my arms as though you could never be calm without her. With one arm, you start making a slope of pillows against the headboard, what we called "Mount Breastfeed" when Caleb was small. I help you, stacking the pillows in an even slope and pulling back the covers.

You sit on the edge of the bed, carefully pulling your legs up as I hold the covers out, tucking you both in as you recline. You pull up your sleep shirt and help her latch. Finally, I see you relax. You gaze down at her as though your heart were growing bigger with every snuffle and jerk of her tiny body.

And for the first time in a long time, you start to sing. It's quiet and hushed, unrecognizable from its original anthem:

Goodnight, Ruby Tuesday

Who could hang a name on you?

When you change with every new day,

Still I'm gonna love you so...

She is four years old. She's still small, still blissfully innocent and whimsical. But she is headstrong and curious and feisty like you. More than a few times I've heard you mutter, "I suppose I had this coming" while she tantrumed.

Now she is fast asleep in your arms, exhausted from her crusade against the injustice of having to wear boots instead of princess shoes out in the snow. She railed and rocked against you, wailing with the full force of her tiredness. You held her, firm and warm, until she melted into sleep. Now you slip upstairs to tuck her into her four foot bed, crowning her with kisses before coming downstairs to help her brother finish his model airplane. As you ascend with her in your arms, I hear you sing, so quietly I can barely hear the words:

Don't question why she needs to be so free

She'll tell you it's the only way to be

She just can't be chained...

I can't hear the rest as the carpets and walls of our house muffle the lullaby. Still, my mind plays the chorus you started years ago.

She is eleven years old, and I've just returned from back-to-school shopping with her.

As we walked through the department store, I saw her hover near the lingerie, eyes flickering down to her chest before glancing at me to see if I noticed.

I noticed.

I go around the conversation she doesn't want to have.

"Let's try one of these on," I say, picking up a white training bra with tiny rosebuds dotted over it. "If you like it, we can buy a matching set," I say, pointing to the row of cotton panties on the lower rack.

Ruby ducks her head, nodding as she makes a beeline for the dressing room, hoping no one sees the bra pressed to her stomach under her arm.

I set our bags on the dining room table as she goes up to her room in an effort to forget the humiliating ordeal. You smile at me and ask me how our shopping trip went. I check to make sure Ruby is out of earshot, deciding it would be safer to show you rather than tell you. I find the training bra where it's buried in the bottom of the bag and hold it up so you can see.

You freeze for a second before glancing at the ceiling, as though she could see through walls and you want to save her any embarrassment.

"Did she ask for that?" you whisper.

"In her way," I shrug.

You bite your lip and nod. "I was wondering when that would come up."

You look at me with a mixture of a smile and a grimace, a commiseration that our little girl is no longer a little girl. I feel my heart twist with combined pride and mourning.

You turn back to the stove and start humming the chorus before going into the verse:

There's no time to lose, I heard her say

Catch your dreams before they slip away...

You stand in the doorway of Ruby's bedroom, looking in. The walls are blank now; the bed perfectly made; the closet empty; the chair tucked in at the desk.

You sniffle and hug your arms to your chest.

"She'll be home for Thanksgiving in two months," I say softly.

You nod, but don't tear your eyes from the stark emptiness of the room.

"This is how it's supposed to be," I murmur. "The kids grow up and go on their own adventures." I wrap my arms around your waist. "Just like we did. And we're not done yet."

You sigh, staring into Ruby's empty room as I kiss your shoulder.

You break away from my grasp, walking into the bedroom. You sit down on the bed, smoothing the lavender duvet with your hands as you take a deep breath. As you exhale, you lay down, putting your head on the pillow and inhaling the smell of Ruby's shampoo.

"I miss her," you whimper.

"I miss her, too," I say as I lay down behind you, spooning you. I wrap my arm around your waist again.

You continue to smooth the sheets with your hand. A ring on your left hand catches my eye. You've been wearing it for so long, I hardly notice it anymore. Tiny rubies are laid into a slim silver band that presses against your wedding ring. I remember the day I gave it to you: she was just a few days old, and I tried to slip it onto your finger while you were asleep in the hospital bed. Always a light sleeper, you woke up. When you realized what I was doing, you beamed at me, meeting my lips before I whispered, "Thank you for her."

You turn your face into the pillow and cry. I hold you closer, placing kisses on your neck. A tear slides down my cheek as I reach across your torso for your hand, feeling the same ring there now.

You turn to face me, taking my hand and clasping it between your own. You try to smile, but it glistens with tears.

No one needs to sing now, but I know we both hear the song.