Dear little boy.

I've been back at work for more than a year now, and I'd like to tell you it gets easier.

It's true that we've fallen into a routine, our little family of three (plus Gus). We get you up in the morning, dress you, make you breakfast, send you off with your grandmothers who love you tremendously. It's true that I spend hours focused on other tasks, and in those hours I am not the same person who sings you silly songs or reads to you about "Tom" (the train). It's also true that I have the good fortune of working from home three days a week, allowing me to see you so much more than I would have otherwise.

I'd like to tell you that it gets easier because I love my career - the latter is also true. I've poured myself into this work, and I'm proud of that.

But make no mistake, little boy. These choices about what's best for you and me and us are some of the hardest we've had to make. One day when you're grown, maybe you'll better understand what that feels like. It doesn't get easier, but "easy" isn't ever what we should want out of life, anyway.

I love you so.


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