Dear Daughter, From Your Heavy-Hearted Working Mom

My Dearest Child,

I’m sorry. I’m sorry I made you cry. I know I don’t have a choice right now, but when I saw that the tears were gonna come I almost broke down myself. You miss me; I get it.

When you told me you were sad that I had to work, I felt so helpless. I understand this is hard for you, and it’s hard for me too. You’re my baby.

I can remember when you were a fat, 6-month-old bundle of joy. I worked five days a week, and when I came home it felt like we ate dinner and then it was time to go to bed. Saturdays were chocked full of housework and errands, and then Sunday always went by like the speed of light. I hated it!

You! Precious, chubby, smiley you! You were the best thing that had ever happened to me, and all I wanted to do in life was be around you, to soak you up like a thirsty sponge. We figured it out, and I found a nursing position where I could work part-time. I got five days a week in a row at home with you. We did that for the next seven years! So believe me when I say this is hard for us both.

I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry you miss me, and while I’m honored that you do, it makes me sad that my absence causes you pain. If it helps any, I miss you too.

Last night after I had held you a long time, dried your tears from your face and played with your hair, you had asked me a question.

“Will you always have to go to work?” You asked.