I see my husband’s intensity and mischievousness in my daughter. He is part of her. She is becoming her own person, no doubt. But, I see someone else more often.

During the Winter Olympics he asked her if she wanted to watch hockey, skiing or some other sport. “No, I want to watch figure skating, Daddy.”

Yeah, because that other stuff sucks compared to figure skating. I get it.

The other day I asked if she wanted to go to the toy store before we left the shopping center. “No, I want to go to the store with the dresses. ”

Atta girl.

My parents tell similar accounts of me as a 3-year-old. I make myself sound shallow with the girly-girl tales. It’s more than that. She is so much more. 

Yes, she dons her princess dresses with flair and twirls as all little girls do, but she is playing out a full-fledged saga in her mind. Her tales of heroes, villains and adventures have a beginning, middle and end. She feels the range of emotions of the characters that are real to her.

So like me.

My daughter chatters and chatters, telling us the tales of her imaginary friends who act out scenarios to make sense of her world. She immerses herself in books. She creates a heirarchy among her baby dolls. She seamlessly blends toys into the same make-believe family that never would have existed to others. She gives unique names to every toy.

I did the same.

She delights in being the oldest and the first, a little too much. She can be a bit entitled, but is wracked with guilt when it’s brought to her attention. The agony of disappointing her parents interrupts her need to push her boundaries.

I know the feeling.

She looks the part of a pretty, preppy girl, but occasionally feels the need to show on the outside that she is more on the inside. She has to show the quirk that makes her so unique.

I understand.

It is an equally funny and frightening thing to see your child have so many of your own traits. I watch her grow with hopes that she’ll take my strengths. I only hope that I can guide her through the weaknesses I know all too well.

They say your children teach you more than you teach them. I’m starting to believe that.

Recently my daughter was belting out the “Alphabet Song,” which she charmingly calls “ABCDEFG.” She barely took a breath before starting “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.” I think she learned a Russian or Slovak version as she says “Tvinkle, Tvinkle.” So worldly.

My husband pauses. With realization dawning on his face he says, “Whoa! Do ‘ABC’s’ and ‘Twinkle, Twinkle’ have the same melody?!” I looked at him funny and replied, “Um, yeah, you didn’t know that?”

I’m no composer, but I have two ears.

Last week I was changing the baby’s diaper. He’s finally getting over a nasty cough. I was making the switch from dirty diaper to clean when he coughed.

Ya’ll. They moved.

I gasped and nearly jumped back from the changing table. Realization dawned on me. I said to my husband, “Oh, my God! That’s why they have  you guys turn your head and cough!” He looked at me funny and said, “Um, yeah, you didn’t know that?”

He’s no urologist, but he has two balls.

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.

The calendar turning to 2014 means my younger sister is due with her first baby any time. I have several other pregnant friends. My friend from college became a first-time mom on New Year’s Eve.

Julie, Kevin and “baby”

It’s the year of my second child’s infancy. These past eight weeks with my newborn son has rekindled all of those new mom feelings, but with a new confidence that comes with experience. I look at my sister and my pregnant friends and want to tell them so many things. I look at their round bellies and glowing faces and think, “Don’t you know will never be the same again? Ever.”  No, they don’t know. I didn’t.

One of my favorite quotes is this:

“The moment a child is born, the mother is also born. She never existed before. The woman existed, but the mother, never. A mother is something absolutely new.”

–Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh

I want to tell them how exhausted and nervous they will be. I want to tell them breastfeeding will be hard and frustrating but it’s okay and you and your baby will figure it out. You will second guess yourself and every choice you make. Everything will take longer than you think it will. You will never look at your husband the same way, again. You will forever see your child’s face in his.

Sometimes it will feel like you’re trying to keep your head above water. You will try to be all things to everyone, a great mom, a great wife and a good employee. Sometimes you will fail and that’s okay.

You will cry. Sometimes you will cry a lot.

I want to tell you going back to work is really, really hard. It’s like leaving a piece of your heart with someone else for ten hours a day and it can be torture. You will look at your smiling coworkers who are exactly the same as when you left and you will want to shout, “Don’t you understand that I am different now?!!” But, it gets better and eventually you figure out what it means to be a working mom.

With all of that, you have to know that this is the coolest thing you will ever do. You could stare at your baby all day long. You will make plans for his future as you rock him and your worries will run the gamut from wondering if he is getting enough nutrition as an infant, to if he’ll struggle at fractions in math class, to if he’ll marry the right person. Then again, if you can make your newborn smile, you can die a happy woman with no worries in the world.

Welcome to this beautifully imperfect sisterhood, where every woman whether a mother for just a few months, or fifty years will peek in your stroller and understand everything you’re feeling. They may give you a knowing smile. Consider it an induction in to the motherhood sorority.

To Julie, Stephanie, Anjelica and all the 2014 new mothers, we’re glad you’re here. You may never be the same again, but you wouldn’t change it for anything. It is wonderful. Happy New Year.