work to live. live to work.

Dear Jack,

One of the first lies of your life was that you and I would have four months at home together. In my defense, I really did plan to have a nice long (by American standards) maternity leave with time to work on your routine, to cuddle and sing, to marvel at and celebrate you.

So much for that, kid.

Your Bibi works her bottom off now and did just the same when I was your age. Your Nanny finally "retired" sometime after she turned seventy and then started a new career just a few years later. Her mother went door to door with homemade candies when there was no work to be had in this country. What can I say? We Ruth girls are a working people. We do it to take care of our own mental health. We do it to take care of our families. Sometimes we do it because we have no choice.

On February 10, I returned to work--two months to the day after I left work for the last time, the night before you were born. Two days before, you and I went to San Antonio to meet with my boss and my boss's boss. They asked if I could be a part in planning a party to launch the Imagine No Malaria campaign to the rest of the United Methodist Church. I had already spent most of the fall working on this campaign in Austin. So had you for that matter. And it is a cause that I find so compelling, a dream for the whole world that might be made true before you start kindergarten, that I said I was in on one condition.

You. I came back to work with the understanding that you had to come with me.

We've spent nearly a month in the new routine of getting up and dressed, of getting outside our own home and outside our selves. This isn't easy. It requires you to have more patience than the average infant. It requires me to have more...I'm not sure. More of me. To be present to my work. To be present to you. All in the same space and time and without putting my head on my desk and crying.

We're lucky--you and I. We have the support of the office--even when we do cry. You are greeted by many smiling faces. My coworkers and all who visit the office want a little bit of Jack time and you oblige, like the benevolent little prince (of our hearts) that you are. You smile and coo and eat lots and require at least two wardrobe changes a day.

And most days I think I am going to survive. In fact, most days I think that we both will.

love you always and always,
mommy