Only a few months into motherhood, I quit my full-time gig and became a full-time freelancer. It was the best decision I've ever made: Because of that, for the past five-plus years, I've not only been pulling down a pretty darned good income (thank you, wonderful friends and clients), but I've also been able to squeeze in every single school event, party, and milestone.
But in two weeks, thanks to a big business trip for a new client, I'll be missing a biggie: the first day of first grade.
I know I shouldn't be too torn up about it. It isn't kindergarten or college. My husband will be there to take the pictures and beam proudly as he walks her over to school—and he's missed out on plenty of other events over the past five years, so it's only fair that he gets a few just for himself. I'll be able to hear all about her first day and her new teacher that evening on the phone. (Should really get a webcam for my husband's computer, now that I think of it.)
But I have such mommy guilt over it that I haven't been able to tell my daughter yet that I'm missing her big day. I keep holding out hope that the trip will get postponed (even though travel reqs seem to be going out as we speak). I know, in the grand scheme of things, my daughter will never remember that Mommy was in Memphis for her first day of first grade. But Mommy always will.
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