by Rebecca Peacock

I couldn't believe it when my alarm went off in the morning. After leaving my job a month ago I had been living the life of a stay-at-home mom with my 8 month old daughter and loving it. She and I had our routine down, and I loved our mornings snuggled up in bed, her soft little hand in mine as she nursed happily. However, like all good things this was destined to come to an end. The money had run out: to be clear, it had never been there to begin with. I was headed back to work.

This time instead of an office across the street where I would be home promptly at 5:15, I was going to be in Washington D.C. The train ride would put me home at 7:00, only and hour before my daughter was supposed to go to bed. Still, it was what had to be done. So, like a trooper, I left my wailing daughter in the arms of my exhausted husband, just home from the night shift he works since we can not afford day care, and boarded the train. Thirteen hours later I returned home in time to nurse my daughter and put her to sleep. After she was safely nestled in bed I sat on the couch and sobbed, positive that she would never forgive me for this misdirection of my energy, betrayal of our special time together.

The next morning I went to her crib, expecting her to be grumpy. Instead I was treated to a beatific smile, a look that said to me " I love you mommy, and I know you are just doing what you have to do."