By Her View From Home 
“Yay, Mommy is done with homework! Can you play with me now?”
My heart sank, and I felt a sharp pang of guilt.
Had I really been doing homework that often while my daughter was awake? How did she even know the word “homework” when she was barely three years old? Did I not play with her enough?
My mind raced as I tried to pinpoint when my sweet, innocent toddler figured out that 1) sitting at my laptop meant I was doing homework, and 2) that meant I couldn’t play with her.
It’s no grand mystery how. She’s never known anything but Mommy in school. She was born two weeks into my fall semester in 2020, so I’ve been doing homework with one hand and essentially single-parenting with the other her whole life.
That instance was over two years ago. Since then, I have graduated from college and moved on to law school. Celebrating my graduation with my daughter made it feel like that much more of an accomplishment—she’s been there every step of the way! But as exciting as that is, she still cried when I told her I was going back to school and would have homework again, so the mom guilt returned. This guilt has made itself at home as the weeks of law school have gone by, especially with every tearful morning goodbye as my daughter begs me to stay with her.
I have enough experience as a mom to know my daughter is okay when I leave. I know some degree of separation anxiety is normal for kids her age. And I remember from being a stay-at-home mom that it’s not that mom guilt didn’t exist—I just felt guilty about different things. But that knowledge and experience don’t negate the pain of hearing your child say, “Don’t go, Mommy! You’re my mommy and you’re supposed to be with me. I love you and I’m going to miss you!” Ouch.
In my childhood, my dad was gone for work a lot. The joke has always been that my birthday was during busy season. But both of those statements are just neutral to me, neither good nor bad. I don’t know how much I remember my dad being gone or how much of that is just from what people have told me. I’m sure, as the parent, my mom has a different perspective. As a stay-at-home mom of three, her job was hard and (at least from me, until I had my own child), thankless.
As the kid who lived through it, though, I remember through the eyes of an innocent and forgetful kid.
My dad was always there to celebrate my birthdays, whether we did it the Sunday before or after my birthday, or on the actual day.
My dad was at church with us every Sunday, on nearly every family vacation (sorry we went to the beach without you that one spring break during high school, Dad, that’s on us!), and if I ever got home from school to find a York peppermint patty on my bed . . . that was from my dad.
Don’t get me wrong: my mom also did A LOT! But since moving out of the stay-at-home mom life and into a working parent role, I hope my daughter will one day see things the way I see my childhood.
I hope she sees that the first thing I do when I come home, before I change or study or anything else, is give her a big hug and ask about her day.
I hope she sees how I make an effort to be at every family meal.
I hope one day she sees if there is ever any extra money or time, it’s spent on her and the kids before it’s spent on me.
I hope she sees that even if I’m busy, I make an effort to plan fun activities, playdates, and extracurriculars so she can have a fun and happy childhood.
Most importantly, I hope one day she sees how her mommy never gave up, never stopped working toward her goals, and never stopped trying to better herself so she wasn’t pouring from an empty cup.
I hope one day she sees I did this all for her.
Originally published on the author’s blog
by Jocelyn Hurt 
by Leslie Kvasnicka 
by Katie Weber 
