Staying Home and Making Ends Meet

I could hardly bear to leave after dropping off my two-month-old daughter, Courtney, at a friend's house that first day back at work, but my six weeks of maternity leave were over. "I'll be by at lunchtime to feed her," I promised, and took comfort in that.

When I returned at noon, Courtney was crying. My heart sank. I scooped her up in my arms and we snuggled contentedly while I fed her, but after what seemed only a few minutes I looked at my watch and it was time to go.

The breath went out of me as Courtney whimpered when I put her down in her crib. I turned and fled, on the verge of tears.

This was not the type of motherhood I had hoped for when Courtney was born in February 1981. I had always wanted to be a stay-at-home mom, but Reggie's job at a brass-manufacturing plant did not pay enough to cover our expenses.

It hurt him as much as it did me, but there was no alternative. In April I returned to my office job.

As I sat in my car after feeding Courtney that first lunch hour, I put my head in my hands. "Oh, Lord, I can't bear to be away from my precious baby. This isn't the way it's supposed to be. I want to stay with her and care for her. Please help us so I can do this."

By summer, thinking it was God's will for me to be at home with my baby, I quit my job and began selling cosmetics door-to-door. I was still away from Courtney, but my hours were flexible, and I could be with her more often.

Starting with my neighborhood, I lugged my sample case up one block and down another. The Texas summer heat turned my legs to rubber. Other than a few sympathy sales to friends, I was getting nowhere.

One hot morning, after I had made some 20 calls without finding a single person home, I came upon a tidy house with a car in its driveway and the front door open. My spirits lifted as sounds from a television drifted out to the front porch. I set my sample case down and hastily fixed my hair. Putting on my cheeriest expression, I prayed sweat wouldn't drip off the end of my nose.

A pleasant-looking middle-aged woman with touches of gray in her hair promptly answered the bell and smiled at me from the other side of the screen. When she saw my sample case, her smile dissolved. "Whatever you're selling, I don't want any!" she hissed. Bang! She slammed the door in my face.

My face streaming with tears and sweat, I ran down the sidewalk to my car and drove home. I flung the sample case in the back of a closet and threw myself on the bed. "Money, money, money!" I wailed. "I hate it! But I can't be with my baby without it. Oh, Lord, isn't it your will that I care for my baby myself?"