Dear Mr. Costas,

First, let me say that I have always admired you as a journalist. Your storytelling is amazing. The Sandusky phone interview, epic. A true professional. Thanks for all the years of sports history. I also love hearing your voice in “Cars.” I think I speak for all parents of preschoolers when we tell you we’ve seen that movie no less than 900 times, so thank you for the subtle adult pop culture references to keep us entertained.

Getting down to business. Congrats on your viral hastag, #SaveBobCostasEye. Sorry about that other viral or bacterial thing you have going on. You know, the eye.  The concensus on Twitter has been that you washed your face with the yellow Russian water despite numerous warnings taped around Sochi hotels. You called it a “minor infection.” It stinks that you have to wear your glasses on air, but it is awesome that you charmingly compared yourself to “Peabody and Sherman.” That’s why we love you, Bob.

I have a suggestion on how to cure it. It’s gross, but hear me out. Don’t worry, I have a Bachelor’s degree from a liberal arts state university, so you can feel comfortable taking medical advice from me.

New Year’s Day I woke up with goopy mucous oozing from my itchy red eye. Unlike you, I don’t have the fine doctors provided by NBC Universal that you have with you in Sochi. Where was I going to get prescription drops for pink eye on a holiday?! I wasn’t. So I took drastic measures. I had drops available. Where, you ask?

Wait for it.

Bear with me.

I used my breast milk.

In my eye.

I know. It sounds repulsive. But breast milk is sterile and has antibiotic properties. The stuff is amazing! It cured it that day. Seriously. Gone. No, I did not squirt it in my eye. Come on, Bob that’s crazy. I dabbed some on my finger from the bottle and dropped it in.

Now I have found numerous uses for it including: baby Eczema, baby stuffy nose, cradle cap, dry skin, dry contact lenses and canker sores.

Oh, wait! That’s right. You are likely not lactating. Hmm. That spoils my plan for you. Again, I’m not a doctor but I wouldn’t recommend using someone else’s breast milk. That would just be weird. About as weird as some woman writing a blog post in the form of a letter to you about curing pink eye with breast milk.

So, sorry Bob. We will all just have to deal with your weepy red eye a few days longer. I blame Putin for somehow infecting those baby blues with his crazy. Keep up the good work! Happy Olympics!

Sincerely,

Amy

P.S. Go Team USA!

The news that former American Idol runner-up and Raleigh native, Clay Aiken was running for congress in North Carolina brought a smile to my face yesterday. I watched him in numerous TV interviews during his media blitz. His red hair, familiar native twang and sparkly eyes reminded me of another time. A quirky phase I went through in my life.

I have already voted for Clay Aiken. Oh, yes. I was one of millions who voted for him back in 2003. My roommate and one of my dearest friends, Sara and I shared an apartment near campus. I was 21. I turned 22 that summer. We were college seniors who were just a summer semester away from graduating when we watched every episode of American Idol. Okay, I made Sara watch every week because I was captivated by this kid from my home city.

He had a nice singing voice. We were just two years apart in age. I knew some people he knew and he just seemed like a really nice guy. I loved seeing a hometown kid succeed on the nation’s most popular show. I joined the message boards and encouraged Clay support with my AIM icon. I bought the Rolling Stone magazine with his picture on the front and made Sara go to a Kelly Clarkson/Clay Aiken concert with me where I may or may not have bought a t-shirt. I understood why girls were all about him. He was non-threatening and charming. Unlike some of the “Claymates” however, I was not surprised when he came out a few years later after his fame from the show had faded. I was happy for him that he felt like he could say that he was gay and be who he was.

Am I a little embarrassed of my silly infatuation in 2003? Of course. I was a little too old for that. But, I think the reason I had a summer fling with Clay Aiken was that subconsciously I was clinging to my last bit of lighthearted, teenage fun. Voting for a contestant on a reality show was a welcome distraction from my first real-world scary, frustrating job search. That was the summer I ended my internship, finished my final classes of undergrad and had interviews for a real jobs at TV stations. That was the summer I said goodbye to my college friends and moved back home with my parents because that’s where the job was and I had no choice but to face the startling, adult reality that I had no money and no where to go. Little did I know, when summer turned to fall I would fall in love with the man who would eventually become my husband. I quickly left the room at my parents house for an apartment I shared with him. Stashed in that girlish closet were old prom dresses, sorority photos and even a Clay poster taped to the inside of the door where no one would see the evidence of my fandom.

Me and my husband in Oct. 2003

Yesterday, the 32-year-old woman that I am now rocked the baby and wiped the nose of the three-year-old I have with that same man I met the year Clay Aiken became famous. I reminded my husband that he went with me to see Clay at the NC State Fair and the Raleigh Christmas Parade back then. He laughed and rolled his eyes telling me that he must have really been in love to have done all of that. We watched one of his interviews  last night and listened to his views on issues he wants to address as a potential congressman.

I can’t vote for or against Clay this time. I live one district away, but I wish him luck and thank him for bringing back memories of a funny, fleeting time in my life. I wondered how his political career would pan out and wondered if I would remember the day he announced he would run for office. I think this may be a funny, fleeting time in my life too. It is the first week of my life as a stay-at-home mom. I’m sure I’ll look back fondly.

Good luck Clay. While you campaign to get voters to mark your name on a ballot, I will always remember when Ryan Seacrest campaigned for you and I called a 1-866 number over and over, just to be a silly girl for just a few months longer.

When I went back to work after Charlotte was born it was at 2:00am. I dragged myself out of bed and away from my baby to report the news. That was January, 2011. For another year I left my infant each day to go to work. It was hard, but she had great care at a great school. I changed careers a year later in February, 2012 and started at a PR agency. It was a good move for me. I love my coworkers. I love working with clients. I like having my weekends off and not being a slave to the news cycle. Life at a PR agency can be hectic, but rewarding.

For three years I prided myself on being a do-it-all working mother. I was proud of how much my daughter was learning at her school. That made the steep monthly payments more justifiable. I went to all the class events I could. My house was often messy. We could only have playdates on the weekends. I used the hashtag #workingmother. Most of all, we were an insanely busy family, but life was good.

This month I went back to work when Henry was 9 weeks old. We found a great sitter for him with a better price than Charlotte’s daycare. She is a wonderful teacher and caretaker for my baby. She helped soothe the harsh wound of leaving him.

But, this time going back to work was different. Yes, I felt the same stress of having two working parents trying to get a baby out the door and I longed for my children, but it was worse. I was missing it. Missing everything. The first time I went back it was always with the thought in the back of my mind, “Well, I could always stay at home with the next one.” Plus, most of my salary goes to childcare.

I never pictured myself as a stay-at-home mom. Don’t get me wrong, they are fascinating! I would be in my suit on my lunch break and see them in line at Panera or Chipotle. They would be in yoga pants and have their tots in jogging strollers. I would push aside the pacifiers in my purse to get to my wallet. I would see them with their babies and my heart ached for my own. That’s when I would do a quick countdown to the number of hours left in my work day. Except, I knew that likely wouldn’t be the end as I would surely be on the laptop answering emails after bedtime. I would look at these women and wonder, “What do they DO all day?” as my phone buzzed in my pocket with backed up emails.

Well, I’m about to find out what they do all day.

After coming back it hit me like a ton of bricks. I stared at the computer in my office and I knew it wasn’t right. My shoulders were tense and there was a weight on my chest. It was just all wrong. I think I had to go back to work after maternity leave to know that my heart was calling me home.

But, what about my resume? What about the 8 years of my life I poured into a career in TV news, dragging myself into work at all hours of the night and day to keep pushing to be promoted?  What about my 2 years at a PR agency, learning so much about the different industries of our clients and offering my news expertise? Would it all be for nothing? I worked hard and I’m proud of what I accomplished.

A fellow working mom said it best, “What’s a year gap in your resume? You wouldn’t be the first mother to do that.” True. I told Greyson, “If I don’t do it now, when would I? When they’re older and don’t want to hang out with their mom?” No, it’s now or never.

So, a week-and-a-half after maternity leave I told them I was leaving. Get this. I swear it’s a freakin’ dream come true, ya’ll. They want me to still work in a freelance/consultant capacity. I’m still an employee. My first gig is in March. Seriously? Is this real life? How awesome is that?! I’m feeling so, so blessed.

We are sad we’ll have to take Charlotte out of her daycare. She has been with those kids since she was 3 months old. Her teachers are wonderful. But, blessings continue as I found a part-time preschool that can take her in March after she finishes her last month at her current daycare in February.

Sometimes everything comes together and all things point to a certain decision. Yeah, it’s still a risk. What if it’s not what I think it will be? How long will I do this? Do I have to use the hashtag #SAHM?

Friday is my last day. Here goes nothing…or something.

When she was a little girl we used to ask my younger sister “Julie, what do you want to be when you grow up?” Her answer was always the same, “A mommy!”

She was spirited and kind. She loved deeply and giggled loud and hearty. She carried streaks of wit, sass and dogged determination behind blue eyes that watered quickly at the slightest sentiment. Julie was joy. Always joy.

That little girl had no idea the ambitious, driven young woman she would turn into. She knew nothing of a Master’s in Business Administration or of careers in finance. She didn’t know she would find a man with the humor and sense of adventure to become her perfect match.

This weekend I walked into a hospital room and looked into the tiny face of my nephew. He is eight pounds of delightful squirmy newborn. The only thing I could think is that she had done it. She had become what she always said she would, a mommy.

I wanted to tell her baby how lucky he was to have her as his mommy, but I didn’t need to. He’ll know soon enough. He’ll know she is joy. Always joy.

Dear Starbucks Customer,

There is no way you could have known that when I pulled up behind you in the drive-thru this week that I was so weighed down. I was weary and overwhelmed when I stopped for another caffeine boost.

There is no way you could have known that every day this week I have left my home feeling panicked and frazzled. My heart was heavy and I sometimes wanted to go off and cry to let it out. Occasionally I did. I questioned my choices. I couldn’t get my groove. I longed to hold my babies.

As if the first full week back at work after maternity leave wasn’t stressful enough, I got the call that my dad would need emergency surgery. There was no way you knew I was on my way to hospital to be with him when I pulled into Starbucks.

When I got to the window the barista told me, “The car in front of you paid for your drink.” I looked at her grin and let out a surprised breath. I drove off smiling because of your sweet blessing, stranger. Your gesture made knots in my back loosen a bit. It was nice.

In the hospital room I stared at the lipstick stains on the plastic lid and listened to my dad’s beeping IV machine. I contemplated what was next for me. One thing was for sure, I wanted to return your favor. I just didn’t know when I’d have a chance to go to the coffee shop the rest of the week.

I got my chance on Friday. The sitter brought the baby to the office Monday so I could  feed him and snuggle him. It was a lovely little break in my day. I couldn’t wait for her to bring him in Friday. My coworkers admired my round little guy and his gummy smiles. I carried him down the three steps in the hallway. Three steps. That’s it. That’s all it took.

My heel caught the second step just the wrong way. I stumbled and tripped. My beautiful baby fell and hit his perfect little head on the rail. I was able to flip my body around before we hit the ground and he landed on me. “I fell! I fell!” I shouted. As if the loud thud, wailing infant and flying shoe didn’t give it away. My coworkers helped us up. We frantically searched his head for any signs of trauma. There were none. We went to a private room so I could nurse him. He stopped crying. The only thing was a little welt on his cheek. I called the pediatrician and made an appointment. He was fine. I knew he was. I was shaking as he was smiling.

I took him in as a precaution. I was driving and I felt like I was coming undone. He fell from my arms the week I went back to work. He fell! He fell at work! What was happening!? The appointment was at 2:15pm. It was 1:50pm. I didn’t want him in the germy waiting room for too long. I saw the green and white mermaid and could think of no better way to kill time than to repay the week’s good deed.

I told the barista I would pay for the person behind me. She grinned and said, “You know. The other day, we had a line of 30 customers who did that! It went on until the store closed!”

::pause::

Well, crap. I’m supposed to pay for the person behind me, right then? You mean I could have messed up some epic latte love line?! Ugh! I’m a baby dropping, coffee house faux pas!

I pulled into a parking spot and let it out. I cried, thinking of every deadline I scrambled to meet, each night I barely slept, my ailing father and my soft-skulled baby. Then I laughed. I laughed into my latte as I thought about my breach of etiquette in the Starbucks drive-thru.

So, thank you Starbucks customer for opening my eyes to the correct way to pay it forward. Thank you for helping me laugh through the tears of being a working mother.

Sincerely,

Amy