Today, the students at Shorecrest go back to school. If you had asked me last year, I would have predicted that, at this moment, Jacob would be in daycare and I would be standing in front of the classroom, overwhelmed by the barrage of new faces but excited about a whole year of possibility ahead of me.
But I’m not. And while I miss the nervous energy of that first day of school, I am also humbled by and grateful for the awesome new responsibility I have taken on – a responsibility now sleeping peacefully in his crib but soon to wake and loudly demand food, playtime, and love.
One day, Jacob will start high school, and I may be right there in the building with him greeting a new set of students (poor kid). Here is what I would like him to know on that day.
As you are reading this, it is your first day of high school. But as I write, you are almost seven months old and sound asleep in your crib. I won’t even try to imagine the 14-year-old you – what you look like, what make you happy, what dreams you have – but I want to tell you what I know to be true at this moment that will still be true in 2029.
Just a few days ago, you figured out how to maneuver from sitting up to crawling and back again. I was so proud I couldn’t stop smiling. I don’t think it’s possible to be more proud of you, but I am willing to bet that time will prove me wrong. Jacob, everything you do is amazing to me. I want you to know that, no matter what the first day, or second day, or 263rd day of high school might bring, that will never change.
You just woke up, so I need to end this letter and go pick you up. I know that as soon as I walk in your nursery you will give me a huge smile and everything will be right with the world. Keep smiling, sweet pea.