Tomorrow I go back to work. I'm a data librarian, which means I get to help people find and organize things. I also get to try to solve really cool problems and help scientists who discover important things do a better job with their research. I love my job, but I love you more, and I am extremely nervous about balancing the time my job requires with the time that you deserve. For twelve weeks, you have had all of me, and, little girl, it has been the time of my life. Like your big brother, you have brought marvel, wonder, and gratitude into my life in a magnitude that I didn't know was possible.
Watching you grow and change over these past twelve weeks has been amazing. I watched you learn to smile and laugh, two skills I hope you exercise frequently throughout your life. I watched you roll for the first time at nine weeks and sleep through the night at ten weeks. I watched as your world became bigger and more interesting; how your eyes would light up at something that was there yesterday but just off your radar. I watched as your cheeks got chubbier, your neck stronger, your hair and eyes lighter. I'm terrified that I will miss these small gradations now that I won't be able to stare at you morning, noon, and night. I'm even more scared of missing your first steps and first words. Promise me, Harper, that you'll save at least a few firsts for me.
On my end, I promise not to burn the midnight oil and to keep my priorities straight. I have the rest of my life to become an associate dean or go back to school for a PhD and only a few precious years when you need me the most. Even if it means working after you and your brother go to bed, I will try as hard as I can to leave the office at 5:00 and to take every single one of my 25 vacation days a year. I promise to spend some of those days just snuggling with you on the couch instead of packing every day with big adventures.
Someday you might ask me why I work when so many other moms stay at home. I promise not to defend my choices too vehemently or malign the choices of others. I will explain that I love being your mom and I love being a librarian and that I do my best to balance the two. I pray that you find your own passion someday and pursue excellence in all that you do. Like me, I hope your passions allow you to help people, both inside the home and in the world at large.
The last thing I want to tell you, little girl, is thank you. Thank you for the honor and the pleasure of being your mom. To experience the joy of holding you, loving you, and watching you grow. These first twelve weeks are only the beginning. We have so many more experiences ahead of us. I'm going to mourn every second of your first year that I miss, but I'm making this sacrifice so I can provide you with financial stability and a model for success and independence. I want you to know that your choices are limitless, and that I'm here to support them.
Even so, I'm going to miss spending every day with you little one, more than you'll ever know.
Love,
Mom
Such a beautiful letter. You made me tear up. Harper is lucky to have you as her mom and role model in this world.
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